The Rat Patrol 2: Desert Danger (10 page)

Dietrich unbent his arms, placed his palms on the edge of the table and pushed his body erect. He braced his shoulders and against the protests of his bones and muscles, assumed his normal appearance. Kummel straightened and put both feet on the floor. Schmitt brought his heels together and lined his thumbs on the seams of his trousers. Willi did not move or even take a breath.

"Will someone tell me what is going on before I lose my sanity," Dietrich croaked, voice hoarse from shouting. "Do you want me to believe there are poltergeists in the building friendly to the enemy? How else could the prisoner have escaped except through the door? The window still is so securely barred we cannot budge it with a rifle butt from the inside. There is no tunnel leading from the second floor into the bazaar across the street,
ja?
No wall has been broken through into another room,
nein?
There is no secret trapdoor in the floor,
hein? Darum,
since this Wilson is a thing of flesh and not a spirit that can pass through solid objects, someone unlocked the door and out he walked,
verstehen?"

"It is the only logical answer, Hans." Kummel sighed helplessly and slipped a little in his chair. "But how could it have happened? The room was checked when Willi was caught sleeping at his post. The American was there, sleeping on the desk. You locked the door. You have the only key. Willi has been standing at attention in the doorway since that time. Your guard has been at his post outside your door where he can watch both the stairway and the hallway where Willi stood. No one could have entered that room."

"Dumkopf,"
Dietrich rasped at Kummel. "Do not tell me the room could not have been entered when it was. One by one, I will answer your obtuse questions. First, you have heard of passkeys. Second, Hansteuffel was alseep on the floor the first time we returned. This Hansteuffel of yours is undoubtedly a man of many talents. Among them must be the ability to sleep on his feet with his eyes open. As for the guard at my door, I would not put it past him to have checked this office a time or two for a swallow of brandy during the many times this night we have been out and in. Third, or whatever point this may be, have you heard of confederates? We know the Rat Patrol operates by pairs. Two or more of them came into this building and concealed themselves while the two dressed as Arabs lured all of us with the exception of your sleeping beauty, Hansteuffel, away. These are the only answers,
verreicht?
Take Hansteuffel out and shoot
him."

Kummel flushed and sat as straight as if someone had rammed a broomstick down his back. He brought his feet together flat on the floor.

"No one was hidden in the building, Hans," he said evenly. "With three guards always on duty, it is impossible."

"Don't you listen to me, Kummel? Are you as crazy as the others? At first perhaps they were not hidden in the building but only near it. While we searched for the two of them, the entry was unguarded. I told you, that is when they entered. With your Hansteuffel here, nothing is impossible." Dietrich pounded the table with his fist. "It is the way it happened."

"Ja,
Herr Hauptmann Dietrich," Kummel said between clenched teeth.

"Then have him shot at once," Dietrich ordered. "And another matter, where was your guard at the entrance that the town suddenly is overrun with Americans? Have him shot with Hansteuffel."

"If the captain will permit me to point out," Kummel said in a tightly contained voice, "we cannot spare men for a firing squad if we are to organize a thorough search for Wilson and the others."

"Ah, the others," Dietrich said with a steely glint in his eyes. "You are chief of my security, Kummel. Where is Wilson? Where are the others? Why have they not been found? How many do they total? Four? Six? A dozen? Tell me, Kummel, how many Americans are there wandering like tourists about my headquarters?" Both fists pounded the table. "Where are they, Kummel, where are they?"

"They have not left the town,
mein Herr,"
Kummel said.

"Ja,
of that I could not be less certain." Dietrich's eyes narrowed dangerously. "We need a new security officer here, I think, perhaps."

"The entrance has been guarded, Herr Hauptmann," Kummel said, face crimson. "The walls cannot be leapt over as you would a hedge and the Americans we chased were not carrying extension ladders. The walls are patrolled at night both inside and out. Within the hour every man in the unit will be organized for a building to building search of the entire community. I already have sent for my deputy, Lieutenant Emil Bemdt, who will conduct the operation under my direct supervision. He will report here any minute."

"Every man in the unit!" Dietrich screamed through his hoarseness. "May I remind you, Kummel, that I am planning a new offensive? Are you telling me the war must halt while my troops become policemen?"

Kummel pressed his lips together until a white line showed about them. He did not say a word. He could not. Dietrich fell against the back of his chair, took a deep breath and held it a moment before he expelled it in a tired sigh.

"No reason we both should suffer apoplexy. A little brandy, Wilhelm," he said wearily, motioning toward the half-filled bottle that fronted two emptied bottles. When he had gulped the full glass of liquor Kummel placed in his hand, he looked at Schmitt, standing at attention with his chin tucked in the folds of his underchin. "Oh, for God's sake, relax, Schmitt," he said. He reached into his pocket and tossed a ring of heavy keys that landed with a clatter on the table. "Take Hansteuffel and lock him in the interrogation room. Detail a twenty-four-hour guard. We will deal with him when the Americans have been captured and we learn exactly what took place."

Schmitt bent as if he were making a formal bow, picked up the keys, shot his right arm and palm forward and said,
"Heil!"

Dietrich glowered at him and handed his glass to Kummel for a refill. When Schmitt had marched Hansteuffel from the room, Dietrich looked at Kummel.

"Detain the guard who was on duty at the entrance last night," he said harshly. "We will find out exactly what took place when the Americans are apprehended. They will talk, you understand? It is your assignment to interrogate them." Then Dietrich leaned an elbow on the table and rubbed his palm over his face. He was exhausted. He smiled wanly and said in a friendly voice, "Fill your glass, Wilhelm, and tell me what you plan. Then let us each have an hour's sleep. There is an extra bedroom here I will let you have."

"Ja,
my captain," Kummel said, unbending a little. When he'd swallowed some brandy, he shook a Camel package at Dietrich and again slumped in his chair.
"Ach, vas eine Nacht,"
he exclaimed and dragged hard at his cigarette. "Very well, Hans, I will tell you what has been done and what will be done. No one has left Sidi Abd, not even a true Arab. The entrance has been closely guarded from the moment of the first alarm and the patrols about the wall doubled. When Lieutenant Bemdt reports to me—" Kummel frowned and consulted his watch. "He is long overdue. Well, when Lieutenant Bemdt reports to me, I shall order him to conduct a thorough investigation of every building, every rat hole, garden and rooftop. Groups of buildings as they are cleared will be sealed off by patrols so the Americans will not be able to find a refuge by doubling back. Before the sun has leached its zenith"—he extended his fingers and slowly clenched them in a tight fist—"we shall have the swine in our grasp like that. And believe me, Hans, I am filled with gratitude at the opportunity to conduct the interrogations. This has become a personal matter."

Dietrich's lip curled. "With me also, Wilhelm. I want them taken alive at all costs. When you have finished with them, I would like a few days of conversation before I turn them over to the Gestapo." He finished his brandy and placed a hand on the table, half rising. "Well, shall we get a little rest?"

"You go on, Hans," Kummel said. "Tell me where my bed is. I must talk with Bemdt, you know. I wonder what can be keeping him."

"I am so tired already it had fled my mind," Dietrich said and stood limply. "All right, Wilhelm, I leave matters in your hands. The first door to your left in the hallway. In one hour, I shall see you downstairs in the diningroom."

In his rooms, Dietrich tugged off his boots, removed his belt and tunic, loosened his collar and breeches and fell back on the divan that served him as bed. His eyes were closing before his head touched the silken pillow but it seemed not a moment had passed before someone was shaking him from his draggedlike sleep.

"The hour has passed already?" he asked groggily and then his mind alerted itself. He sat bolt upright. "You have found them!"

Kummel stepped back from the divan, cold blue eyes like agates and thin lips grim.

"The hour has passed," he said and his voice was metallic. "I have waited until the last possible minute to tell you this. One of the sentries from last night has disappeared."

"The Americans?" Dietrich shouted.

Kummel did not answer this. Instead he said, "And Lieutenant Bemdt is gone as well."

7

Troy scuttled sidewise like a crab from his rooftop observation post near the entrance along the back line of crooked buildings. His eyes were sore and bleary but they wandered without ceasing: left, front, right; right, front, left. Forgotten were cold, cramped limbs and a stomach that growled with hunger. Dawn was plucking away the veil of night and the roofs no longer offered shelter. Not only was the entrance guarded but Jerry patrols now ringed the wall. He'd sent Tully and Wilson back to the building against the Jerry headquarters as their safest haven while he'd spent the dark hours prowling and probing, following the movement of the patrol from above the soldiers' heads, and returned to watch the entrance for new activity. If only they had brought a scaling hook, he thought again as he had all night, they could have been out of the enclosure before the dawn. Now the light of day would disclose them unless he could quickly find a place to hide, some manure heap, compost pit or kitchen oven.

He slithered over one wall after another, running ahead of the patrols he knew the day would see fanning out to pluck burnoose and veil from every Arab, to prod every bundle of rags with bayonet, sweep every rooftop clear of heaps of refuse, salvaged tins and wooden crates. A scaling hook, a scaling hook, the phrase ran through his mind like an obscene refrain. Last night it would have meant escape. This morning it might mean safety, the means to reach the one place he could think of where they might hide, and he was not even sure of that. Where could he find or how could he fashion, a scaling hook? And do it right now before patrols entered Sidi Abd and every wall and roof was under watchful eyes.

Below in the alleys he heard the shambling feet and spiritless grumbling of the night patrol returning to the tent area and he scrambled ahead. On the crazy corner where the alley turned its flank to the entrance, Troy's smirched and tattered robe caught between his knee and ankle and he tripped, falling backwards, wrenching himself forward just before he toppled from the wall. He damned the disguise. Disguise? No longer did the burnoose and robe offer concealment. But the garments might throw the searching parties off the trail for a few minutes. He pulled off the cloth and headpiece, wadded them and
flung them far down on the opposite side of the passageway. They settled and draped neatly on the sill of an open window. Troy grinned and ran unimpeded in his thin, bleached khakis. His canteen bumped lightly at his hip and reminded him that he was thirsty. He would drink soon enough but where to find a scaling hook? What Arabian implement, what piece of Jerry equipment could he use to fashion one? The Jerries probably carried a stock of scaling hooks to use on walled towns such as this but he had no idea where their supply dump was and even if he had, there was no time to go there.

Wilson was sleeping with his head on Tully's shoulder against the wall of the building that housed the German headquarters. The Bowie knife was bare in Tully's hand.

Troy snorted, "Were you going to take them on with that, a whole patrol?"

"I got better sense than that, Sarge," Tully said, shaking his head and smiling bleakly. "If they'd found us, I was going to slit Wilson's throat so he couldn't tell them nothing."

Troy nodded his head approvingly.

"What's the scoop?" Tully asked.

"They'll be sifting the town with a sieve in minutes," Troy said. "We'd have a chance if I could find a scaling hook."

"Over the wall?" Tully asked.

"Uh-uh, too late for that." Troy pointed to the roof of the two-story German headquarters building. "You'd spend the day up there."

"Hell, Sarge," Tully said. "You still got the rope. If you think we'd be safe up there, we don't need no scaling hook."

"I'm no fly," Troy said tartly.

"Well, now look," Tully said. He stood and Wilson started to fall to the side, caught himself and sat up sleepy-eyed. Tully stood away from the wall with his feet apart, leaned forward with his back inclined and forearms against the wall. "Now you climb up on my shoulders and brace yourself. Wilson can walk right up us like a stepladder."

Troy measured off thirteen or so feet to the top of the parapet with his eyes.

"I believe you're right," he said. "You could just about reach the top of that wall with your hands and pull yourself over. Come on, time's a-wasting, let's move. Only thing, Wilson's on the bottom. You next. I'm going over. Someone's got to anchor the rope for you two monkeys."

Without a word, Wilson assumed his stance against the wall.

"Just a minute," Troy said. "Tully, shed your robe."

He took the clothing, rolled them together and ran to the back side of the tiled rooftop. He hurled them into the narrow passage at the rear they had used the night before. It was, he noted with a wry smile, a cul-de-sac ending at the blank wall of a building.

Wilson and Tully both were in place and Troy crawled up Wilson's back and from his shoulders onto Tully. The ladder was shaky but it did not collapse. Standing wobbly-legged on Tully's shoulders, Troy reached for the parapet. His fingertips were short an inch. He lifted on his toes and could get his fingers on the ledge but not with enough purchase to draw himself up.