The Rat Patrol 3 - The Trojan Tank Affair (25 page)

When the rains had started, Dietrich had less than a hundred tanks and armored halftracks left in his force at Sidi Abd and Rommel could spare him no more. Defeat when the Allies began their spring offensive seemed certain and Rommel had ordered him to make plans for withdrawal. Retreat, indeed! When Dietrich had outlined his plan, Rommel had eagerly provided the Volkswagens and plywood and had even flown to Berlin to demand the King Tiger tank. It was a convincing touch that would lend credence to the might of the unit it led.

"Well, Anton?" he said, turning to Captain Nehring who was crammed in the back seat with four other officers. Nehring was a stiff-necked Prussian and a stickler for conventional warfare. He had scoffed at Dietrich's idea from the beginning.

"I yield," Nehring grunted. "I now am convinced. It is a stupendous sight. The enemy will not rush out to meet it but will draw on his reserves for defense. I think now the campaign will be rewarded with victory. The outnumbered force from Sidi Abd will have everything in its favor. It will chew the enemy to pieces, bit by bit, if he does not retreat. The enemy will not be willing to divert from the main force it believes it is facing behind the King Tiger. It is the King Tiger, of course, that is the master stroke and assures the success of the plan."

Yes, Dietrich agreed. Without the King Tiger, although the offensive would achieve its goal, the Volkswagen tanks and their crews would be sacrificed. But, he thought, bristling, why could Nehring not simply say the plan was a good one without emphasizing the King Tiger? Everyone knew that the mammoth tank was Rommel's contribution.

The two staff cars drove down the last line of tanks, turning behind the dust-makers and returning to headquarters. Everything was in readiness, Dietrich thought. All that possibly could be done was finished, even to running the carpentry shop up to the final hour. Now the machinery was in motion, nothing could be changed and nothing could be stopped. The plan was operational. At oh-six-hundred hours the next morning, even if it rained—and he had been assured it would not—the great unit would move across the desert, trailing dust for miles behind, and strike directly for Bir-el-Alam. At first the slowness of the cumbersome King Tiger tank had disturbed Dietrich. It had a top speed of only twenty-seven kilometers per hour which meant the force would expend one entire day reaching its objective. But now this appeared to have decided advantages. The force would be observed, of course. The unit was designed to be seen. The enemy would have almost twenty-four hours to summon all of his strength to the Bir-el-Alam front. The campaign timing had been based on this interval. While the Allies were massing their armor at Bir-el-Alam, the tanks and halftracks from Sidi Abd would race to the north and then west to strike swiftly at the flanks and the rear.

It was truly amazing, he thought as the cars stopped at HQ, that he had been able to maintain security with only twelve aircraft at his disposal. He'd kept eight of them in the air constantly and had lost only one in the recent flurry of activity which he'd expected with the fair weather. The enemy had probed but only halfheartedly. The Allied forces apparently thought his unit had been weakened, as it certainly had been, and did not attach much importance to the military establishment near Agarawa. They had not even sent the troublesome Rat Patrol to harass him and his secret had not been discovered.

"As you know, gentlemen," he said, turning outside the door to HQ and facing his staff, "the camp will be blacked out at midnight while the planes are grounded for maintenance so they may provide us with cover tomorrow. If you have occasion to leave your quarters, kindly observe the restriction on lights. Good night and rest well."

The sergeant on guard duty stood at attention as Dietrich turned to enter the building. Dietrich took two steps and stopped. Concerned as he'd been with the upcoming operation, the familiar face of the private who'd brought the whisky had continued to annoy him.

"Sergeant," he said. "Do you know the man who brought the Scotch whisky tonight from Lieutenant Langenscheidt?" 

"Not by name, Herr Captain," the sergeant answered with his chin tucked into his neck. "I am sorry he disturbed you. I told him to leave it on the table."

"That was quite all right, Sergeant," Dietrich said. "And I know his name. Private Berger. It is just that I think that sometime before he has come to my attention and I cannot place the man."

"Perhaps on some charge?" the sergeant suggested. "He did not impress me as being overly bright."

"You thought he was stupid?" Dietrich said with a faint smile. "I do not think he has been before me for disciplinary action. I surely would remember anything serious enough to be brought to my attention. No, there is some other association. Well, good night, Sergeant."

He started through the general room toward the door to his office, remembered the windows and turned back. If they were left open, the room would be covered with sand by the morning. He closed first the one at the front and then the side window. It had been thoughtful, not unintelligent, of Berger to open the windows for ventilation, Dietrich thought, but it was not the sort of thing an enlisted man ordinarily would do. He switched off the lights and walked through his office to his bedroom at the back.

It was ridiculous to be concerned with the face of a private on the eve of a crucial campaign, he irritably told himself, sitting on the edge of his cot and pulling off his boots. Berger was beginning to make him uneasy. He closed his eyes and concentrated, bringing Berger's face to the front of his mind. A slack-jawed man, really a dolt in appearance, but that was belied by eyes that were sharp, quick, almost cunning. Recollection of Berger's eyes, covertly examining the map on the easel, was unsettling and Dietrich got to his feet and paced the concrete floor in his gray socks. Damn it! He had to put the man in place or he'd never sleep.

Impatiently he walked to the table that served as dresser and poured two inches of brandy in a glass. He carried it, sipping from time to time, as he walked from door to window. One of Langenscheidt's men, Dietrich reflected. Langenscheidt had a desk job in Supply which was why Dietrich had been able to spare him on the eve of the operation. Abruptly he looked at his watch, saw there remained a half hour until midnight and walked in his stocking feet to Headquarters' general office on the other side of the building. He switched on the lights and took the Supply roster from the file. No Berger was listed.

Dietrich dropped to a chair and sat drumming a desk with his fingers as he tried to recall every word of his conversation with Berger. The man had not said he worked in Supply or even was assigned to Langenscheidt, only that Langenscheidt had given him the Scotch. But it did not seem likely that Langenscheidt would entrust a bottle of Scotch to a man. he did not know. Well, perhaps Berger had been transferred. Dietrich went back to the files and found Finance's master roster for the unit. There was a Berger, yes, a Sergeant Gustav Berger, a cook. Dietrich's stomach grew hot and his eyes turned cold. He slapped the roster back in the file and strode to the door. No sergeant would say he was a private and no cook he'd ever known could be trusted five minutes with a bottle of any kind of schnapps. He stepped outside to the guard.

"Sergeant," he snapped. "Run, don't walk, to the mess hall and find out where Sergeant Gustav Berger bunks. Bring him to me immediately, dressed or undressed. I want him right now."

The sergeant shot one look at Dietrich and took off in a rolling trot. Dietrich stood in the doorway, both angry and disturbed, mind focused on Berger's features. Dark, intelligent eyes. You might even say crafty. A good straight nose, and that revealed breeding. Close the mouth and set the jaw firmly as it should be held and the face assumed an entirely different appearance. It belonged to a person disconcertingly familiar but still unrecognizable.

Sergeant Gustav Berger must have been on duty. He was wearing a white apron and cap. He was short and fat, his face was red and round, and his blue eyes were alarmed. Sergeant Berger was not Private Berger.

"Very well, that is all," he told the two sergeants as they came to attention before him. They looked at him helplessly befuddled. He turned on his stockinged heel and went back to his bedroom.

After he'd filled his glass almost to the rim with brandy, he went to his office and sat at his desk. He tried now to recall the tone of Berger's voice. He had the distinct impression that he'd talked with Berger before, but it had been different somehow. He sat straight and still, eyes growing hard. Talked with Berger? Talked with Berger not in German but English? He had it and the answer infuriated him. Berger was that Englishman attached to the Rat Patrol.

His fist crashed to the desk upsetting his glass. He swept it and a handful of brandy flying to the floor where the glass shattered. The Rat Patrol had penetrated the camp. One had walked right into Headquarters and calmly opened the window so he could listen to the briefing while the others undoubtedly looked over the tanks. They knew everything and were probably out of the camp by now.

He snatched the receiver from the telephone and shouted for the guard post at the only entrance to the camp. The bales of wire that enclosed the area concealed an electric warning system and since there had been no alarm, the Rat Patrol must have entered and left by the gate.

"Who has left the camp tonight?" he demanded when the guard was on the line.

"No-one, Herr Captain," the guard said promptly.

"Who came in?" he shouted.

"At what time. Herr Captain? I have been on duty only four hours until now."

"Look at the record," Dietrich hollered. "Go over it quickly for any names you do not know."

"A moment, I will check," the guard said and left him. A minute or two later he came back. "There are the four men who arrived in two cars from Sidi Abd at eighteen-hundred hours. They were Captain Hotchklein, Lieutenant Troble, and their drivers, Corporal Gruman and Private Berger."

"No one, do you understand, no one is to leave this camp tonight without a written order from me," Dietrich roared into the phone. "If someone does have such an order, call me at once to verify it. Be prepared to shoot anyone who tries to break out. I shall send a squad of reinforcements at once to the gate."

He banged the receiver, glancing at his watch as he put the phone back into service and called his security officer. It was midnight.

"Fromann," he raged, "the Rat Patrol is in the camp. I want them taken if you have to rout every enlisted man and officer and put him on duty. Sound the alarm. Turn on the searchlights on the towers. Turn on every light we have. Yes, yes, I know, get the planes back in the air. I want patrols on the fence and a squad sent to the guardpost immediately. Go over every square inch of the camp from one end to the other. Bring in anyone whose identity is doubtful. The Rat Patrol is in German uniform. They must be taken. Dead or alive, I do not care, but keep searching until you have all four of them. Now move at once, you understand?"

The receiver slipped from his hand onto the hook and he shook with the most terrible wrath he ever had known. The disaster he faced was so awful he dared not think of what he'd do should the Rat Patrol escape.

19

The night had grown cold and dark, but Moffitt had felt cheerfully warm although he was wearing no jacket. He lay beside Hitch on the roof of headquarters and watched the two staff cars depart for a final, and totally unnecessary, inspection of the dummy tank force. Dietrich wanted to be certain his staff fully appreciated his genius. Moffitt had translated for Hitch as he monitored the recording and they both were smiling.

"Jerry has gone out of his way to be helpful this evening," Moffitt said softly. "Now he has conveniently left the premises so we may remove the microphone with ease."

Hitch laughed under his breath and they crawled back to the recording unit. Moffitt put the four spools of wire, on which all the plans of Dietrich's campaign were reported, in his pockets. Hitch pulled the cord from the set and dropped it to the ground. He placed the set in the box, tied the rope around it and stole across the roof with Moffitt. When the box had been lowered, they hung from the edge of the roof and dropped to the ground.

"Remove the mike from the window, will you?" Moffitt asked Hitch. "I'll fade back to Tully with the receiver."

Hitch slipped along the back of HQ and Moffitt ran up the slope toward the post Tully was walking. They had Jerry's number proper this time, he thought, and in a matter of days he could go openly to Agarawa and visit Olympe.

"Where's Troy?" he asked, going prone and crawling past Tully.

"It ain't midnight," Tully said, stopping by Moffitt, unconcernedly. "I wonder what I'm supposed to be guarding besides HQ. There's been nobody come by here all night. Maybe I should of gone off duty."

"The same man is still on the post at the front," Moffitt said. "You'll probably be relieved at midnight but I hope we're on our way before that hour's up. It shouldn't have taken Troy four hours to count the tanks."

"One thing you can be sure of," Tully said, "he ain't wasting his time or taking a nap."

"You're right, of course," Moffitt said a little shamefully. "It's just that we have all we need and I'm anxious to be off." He laughed quietly. "It's amazing, Tully. That tank force we saw when we entered is an enormous hoax. Jerry has wrapped his patrol cars with wood to make them look like tanks. Only the big fellow is real. They plan to strike at us from Sidi Abd while we're cowering before these dummies. We'll hold all of Cyrenaica when we finish with Jerry this time."

Hitch crept up the sand hill and stretched out beside Moffitt. "Where's Troy?" he asked.

Moffitt laughed. "I just asked the same thing and got properly told. I wanted to be moving but perhaps it's just as well we wait until the camp is blacked out. They're doing all the things right for us tonight."

"How's Tully going to drive without lights?" Hitch asked. "It's getting darker and the hill is full of holes."