The Rat Patrol 3 - The Trojan Tank Affair (2 page)

On the second floor, Wilson looked around the spacious back room, at the two solid double beds and the heavily carved straight chairs lined against the yellow wall on either side of double doors opening to a balcony that overlooked a court where orange trees bloomed in other seasons. He shook his head; a little enviously, Troy thought.

"Why would they give you a room like this?" Wilson asked suspiciously. "Do you realize there probably are a thousand officers in town who'd pay a month's subsistence for a night in such quarters?"

"You're lucky, aren't you?" Troy said irritably. "You know the right enlisted men. And it won't cost you a dime. We'll shove Hitch and Tully on the floor and you can bunk alone."

"Uh-uh," Wilson granted, placing his bag on the massive, glass-topped dresser and unzipping it. He brought out a quart bottle of bourbon, started to reach for a glass, then put the bottle down, smiled tight-lipped and frowned at the same time.

Troy and Moffitt sat on one of the beds and watched as Wilson stepped to the balcony doors, jerked them open, glanced out and shut them securely. Then he crossed to the hall door, opened it and inspected the corridor, closed and locked it. Walking about the room, he lifted the single picture, a washed-out imitation of a Van Gogh floral, examining the wall behind it. He peered under the beds, pulled the dresser away from the wall, searched the bathroom and closet. When he seemed satisfied there were no hidden microphones, he took the bottle and a glass from the dresser, poured himself a generous touch, sat on the bed opposite Troy and Moffitt, and handed the bottle to Moffitt. He shook his head and gave it to Troy who refilled his glass.

Wilson pulled off his cap, laid it on the bed, let out a deep breath and looked into his glass for a moment. Moffitt lifted an eyebrow to Troy, who shrugged. He was amused and curious that Wilson had thought the room might be bugged. The CO must be here on Top Secret business, Troy thought and began to tighten with excitement. Wilson relaxed a little and sipped his bourbon, but when his eyes looked at Troy, they were cold and hard.

"You won't have to oust Hitch and Tully to find a bunk, for me," he said and his eyes narrowed. "They won't be sleeping here."

"No?" Troy said calmly although he gritted his teeth immediately. Those idiots, he thought savagely, they did get into a brawl. The MPs picked them up and the CO already has heard about it.

"No," Wilson said evenly. "I'll just take over the entire room. None of you will be here."

"We still have two days on our passes," Troy said tightly, wondering whether the Rat Patrol was going to be disbanded.

"I have a new assignment for the Rat Patrol," Wilson said, lifting himself importantly until he was stiff-backed again. He looked for a hard, long moment, first at Moffitt and then at Troy. When he spoke again, his voice was louder than normal, as if he were fitting it to the importance of his announcement. "A Top Secret assignment of utmost urgency."

Moffitt glanced quickly at Troy and his eyes began to smile.

"Good," Troy said, lowering his voice and feeling a fine tingle of anticipation. He leaned forward and said in almost a whisper, "We're ready for it."

"This is a very special secret assignment," Wilson said, voice still loud but sternly serious. He paused briefly, took another sip and went on. "We have learned through British Intelligence sources in Berlin that the Jerries have developed a new tank. There are no details. It has not been seen there. There is no information except that it is a monster."

"Propaganda?" Moffitt suggested.

Wilson jerked his head one inch to each side.

"The fact is verified," he said emphatically. "I said it was not seen in Germany. But it has been observed in North Africa. Details are lacking, but through Arab sources our Intelligence has learned that such a tank is now being tested deep in enemy territory near the Great Sand Sea. Technically Arabs are not reliable reporters but they do confirm that this tank is larger than anything the Jerries have used against us."

Troy whistled softly. The Mark IV Panthers with their long-barreled seventy-five millimeter guns were formidable enough.

"Yes," Wilson said and paused impressively. "We have reason to believe Jerry has a proving ground for new weapons in the area of the Great Sand Sea. Now, what I want from the Rat Patrol is complete and detailed information on this so-called monster tank. I want to know what armor and armament it carries. Size and range of guns. How many tons the tank weighs, what its speed and range is. How large a crew. How many of them the Jerries have in North Africa. Where they plan to use them." 

"Sounds like quite a caper," Troy said, leaning back and laughing. "But what you want is G2, not the Rat Patrol. We can handle reconnaissance but we're not intelligence."

"Do you think I personally would have come to Algiers to brief you if I didn't know you could do it?" Wilson asked coldly. He was thoughtful for a moment and then he said forcefully, "The fact is, you're the only ones who can do it. You men know the desert. You know the enemy. Once the information is obtained, it cannot be transmitted but must be brought back. You are the only ones who have a chance of survival."

Troy turned to Moffitt and wrinkled his forehead. This one was a challenge. The doctor's eyes were crinkled and he was smiling.

"How about it, Jack?" Troy asked, beginning to smile himself. "The Great Sand Sea must be a hundred and fifty miles or more from Bir-el-Alam, all the way through Jerry land. We'll have to lug trailers for gasoline, water and supplies."

"More than 150 miles," Moffitt said. "I've been in the area with my father. Trackless desert. Few waterholes. An area filled with
Ghiblis."

"Who are they?" Troy asked. "I've never heard of that tribe."

"That's the Arabic word for sandstorms," Moffitt said, laughing. "Great boiling masses of wind-blown sand that rise into the sky as far as you can see. So Jerry has a proving ground near the Great Sand Sea."

"Yes," Wilson said, smiling bleakly. "It's beyond our normal range of observation or penetration so the enemy feels secure in putting his new weapons to the test. You'll be able to learn a great deal just by observing this monster tank through your glasses. As for the trailers, you won't need them."

"Oh, come off that," Troy said impatiently. "You heard Jack describe the country. We can't carry all we'll need in the jeeps. This isn't going to be a picnic."

"You can carry sufficient for the return trip," Wilson said and smiled thin-lipped as Troy frowned. "You're being flown in."

"Flown?" Troy said sharply.

"Flown from here, Algiers," Wilson said crisply. His steely eyes studied Troy for a moment. "For several reasons. Time is vital, of course. We must know what the enemy intends with these monster tanks before we, or they, launch an offensive." He pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand. "But fully as important is secrecy. You could not drive from Bir-el-Alam without being observed by Jerry or some Arab informer. If this mission is to have any chance of success, you must arrive at the Great Sand Sea without being detected."

"Whew," Troy breathed and suddenly the whole assignment seemed to go out of focus. If they were being flown to the Great Sand Sea because they couldn't drive a hundred and fifty miles through Jerry land without being detected, how did Wilson expect them to make the return rip without being intercepted by a Jerry patrol or aircraft? The information they were asked to obtain was technical, beyond their ability and training. Troy pulled his brows together. He wondered whether Rat Patrol successes had gone to Wilson's head.

"Once there," Wilson said, lifting his lips in a very small smile, "it will be up to you to plan your movements with your usual ingenuity. We have a converted troop carrier at the airfield here. The jeeps are aboard, loaded with equipment and supplies for one week. Weapons, ammunition, gasoline, water, food, smoke screen devices, camouflage nets, survival kits. I trust the four of you are in your usual fine physical condition."

Troy thought of Hitch and Tully at the Sidi Bar and shuddered.

"Almost oh-one-hundred," Wilson said, looking at his watch. "Your takeoff is scheduled for oh-two-thirty. Report at the airfield at oh-two-hundred. An Intelligence officer is there and will brief you on the locations where these monster tanks have been reported. You can leave anything you want with me and I'll take it back to Bir-el-Alam. Now round up Hitch and Tully and get out to the field." He stood, extending his hand and smiling confidently. "Good luck. Sorry to cut your passes short but I do appreciate the room."

2

The rampage at the Sidi Bar had erupted into the street. Soldier was battling sailor or soldier with equal enthusiasm and the clamor in the squeezed-in alley was deafening. Troy growled and, sided by Moffitt, pounded down the corridor, lighted only by the illumination from the Sidi's window. Hitch and Tully had started the riot, Troy knew. They'd be in the thick of it. It would take a flying squad of club-swinging MPs to break them loose and then there'd be the stockade. If the four of them didn't report on time for that plane with their jeeps, Wilson would court-martial the entire Rat Patrol and then there'd be no more capers.

Two GIs jumped Troy. He sprawled and rolled. Moffitt smashed into one of them while the other's booted feet smacked the paving stones where Troy's head had been. He hooked the man's legs above the knees, sent him crashing and plunged on with Moffitt. They were pummeled from the front and sides and they lashed back. Troy grinned. He could have enjoyed it if he hadn't been so busy searching for sight or sound of Hitch and Tully. This battle would knock the booze and boredom out of GI systems.

Halfway, the passage was blocked by six GIs who crouched with their hands outstretched and teeth bared. Moffitt and Troy snugged their chins against their shoulders and tried to blast through. The line held and they were slammed back flat. A grumble sounded in several throats behind Moffitt and Troy and they they pitched themselves to the sides as five sailors in a wedge rushed in and split the bunched GIs wide open. Moffitt and Troy picked themselves up, shook their heads and went on doggedly.

A GI chopped at Moffitt with a bottle. Troy caught the man's wrist before the weapon struck, slugged him and knocked him out cold.

"I say, isn't using bottles against the rules?" Moffitt asked from the side of his mouth and smiled crookedly.

"You know you need survival training, Jack," Troy said, laughing and plowing on.

There must have been one hundred men jammed about the entrance to the bar. They were packed so tight they couldn't punch but had to jab with their elbows. Troy couldn't spot Hitch's red French Legion cap nor Tully's helmet anywhere. Miraculously the bar's window still was intact. We'll soon fix that, Troy thought, grinning and squirming through, aided by Moffitt, who got behind and pushed. Troy snatched his bush hat which had survived so far and shoved his fist inside it. The window shattered at his first blow, bursting into a shower of glass. With Moffitt on his heels, Troy jumped inside. The fracas had left the bar in shambles. Tables were overturned and broken chairs littered the floor like kindling. Shards of glass glittered in puddles of spilled drinks. A few, no more than two or three dozen embattled GIs still remained inside, ranging the bar in a battle royal. Behind the red and blue lighted glass block bar, three dull-eyed bartenders watched impassively, interferring only enough to shield their bottles and glasses when a body hurtled across the counter.

"What do you make of that, Sam?" Moffitt asked, half smiling, jerking his head toward the table where he and Troy had sat with Hitch and Tully.

They still were there, heads resting on folded arms, faces down on the table, seemingly unaware of the fighting that raged about them. The girls were gone but the same three sailors lurked against the wall, eyes roving from Hitch and Tully to the men who still were fighting. The sailors looked now at Troy and Moffitt and drifted away from the wall to the front of the bar. Their movements were furtive and Troy's jaw set as he watched them. The girls and the sailors had been up to something.

"Hitch and Tully have passed out," Troy said, still watching the sailors suspiciously as they stopped near the window and turned to look at Moffitt and him. "Let's get them on their feet and moving."

"I think you're being optimistic, Sam," Moffitt said with a faint smile.

Troy seized Tully by the shoulder and pulled him upright. His head lolled and his eyes stayed shut. Moffitt had no better luck with Hitch.

"We'll have to carry them, Jack," Troy shouted, hoisting Tully to his shoulder like a sack of cement.

Moffitt slung Hitch and they stumbled under their limp loads toward the broken window. The sailors didn't move. Whistles shrilled from one end of the alley and were answered from the other. The fighting stopped abruptly and the men began to mill. The sailors looked from one to the other and for the first time emotion showed in their faces. Troy thought they looked alarmed.

"MPs," Troy said, gritting his teeth. "They've cordoned off the street."

"We'd better look for an alternate exit," Moffitt said, swinging and starting back along the bar.

The three sailors were rigid. Serve them right if they're caught without shore leave, Troy thought.

"Rear door?" he called to a dumpy, swarthy-faced bartender.

The man shook his head, looked at Troy with sad, accusing eyes and pointed to the broken window.

Troy propped Tully against the bar and held him upright with his shoulder. He pulled a suede pouch from his shirt pocket and flung a gold florin on the bar. It was from his escape or ransom money to be used in dealing with the Arabs. Well, this was escape pure and simple, he thought as the bartender snatched the coin before it stopped spinning and pocketed it, eyes lively now and darting at the other two bartenders to make sure they had not observed the size of the transaction. Apparently satisfied they were not aware that anything but an ordinary coin has passed, he nervously beckoned Troy and trotted toward the far end of the bar. Troy put his shoulder under Tully again and followed to the back of the room with Moffitt lugging Hitch.