The Rat Patrol 3 - The Trojan Tank Affair (4 page)

"Gotcha, Sarge," Tully said.

Troy and Tully crouched on either side back by the tailgate and Hitch moved up to the window.

"Slow down," Troy called and Hitch passed the word. Tully lit the rags in the gas can with the kitchen match he'd been chewing as the beam from Troy's flashlight glared into the windshield and revealed the faces of the three sailors from the Sidi Bar. The jeep veered and straightened, Tully swung and hurled the quick flaming can of gasoline. It smashed through the windshield as the truck accelerated. The jeep swerved. There was a blinding puff of fire and then an explosion that rocked the roadside. Troy could feel the blast's hot force even behind the tailgate. The raging fire lighted the inside of the truck. Troy stood with Hitch and Tully watching the leaping flames as the truck-left the blazing wreck behind.

"That was like shooting fish in a barrel, Sarge," Tully said cheerfully.

"Small fish," Troy said thoughtfully. "The big ones are going to know who got them and wonder where we went."

3

Although the road had been almost deserted, at oh-two-fifteen hours the Operations office at the Algiers' military airfield was as busy and confused as at high noon. In the bleakly white light of the concrete-floored room, half a dozen GI clerks, Pfcs and corporals in OD shirts sat at olive drab Remington typewriters tapping out the forms in the required multiples for the avalanche of airborne material and personnel that had them buried on the ground. Transmitters and receivers hummed and crackled with coded messages in tone and voice. The metal-skinned structure shivered with the reverberations of revved motors on the aprons and the railways. Outside the Quonset hut, Troy could see the markers briefly glow as the tower cleared another aircraft for takeoff or landing.

From a green metal desk where he sat with a half-filled coffee cup at one hand and a half-filled ashtray at the other, a gaunt-faced major turned impatient eyes from the four members of the Rat Patrol and the driver of the truck they'd appropriated to the big round wall clock with hours marked in both military and civil time. His dark eyes had angry sparks in them when he marched across the room to the doorway where the group hesitated before the MP who'd challenged them.

"Who is this man?" the major asked curtly, jerking his head at the bewildered truck driver.

"Glad to see you, if you're who I think you are," Troy told the major, smiling slowly. "Didn't know exactly what to tell the watchdog here." He shot his thumb at the MP and then moved it to indicate the driver. "Didn't know what to tell him either, so we brought him in. We had to take over his truck to get to the field. He'll need something to explain what happened."

"How much does he know?" the major snapped.

"Nothing that we told him," Troy said, glancing at Moffitt whose eyes were crinkling at the comers. "But he couldn't help see us blow up the vehicle that was tailing us."

"Someone followed you and you disposed of him?" the major asked, face paling. He struggled to retain his composure. "You were certain, then, of their identities?"

Troy nodded and, seeing Moffitt's lips begin to lift, fought back an impulse to laugh. Intelligence wasn't accustomed to the direct methods of the Rat Patrol.

"Very well," the major said shortly and turned to the MP. He pointed to the driver. "Restrict this man to this room until I come back." He swung back to Troy. "Come with me. We'll board the transport immediately. It's almost takeoff time. I'll brief you there."

Troy whistled softly and followed the major into the night. The officer might be G2 but it sounded to Troy as if he were breaking security with his talk about their takeoff. Unless the driver was confined until the Rat Patrol's mission to the Great Sand Sea was completed, he'd be certain to discuss this night's adventure.

They walked down a flight line of shark-nosed P-40s to a C-46 Commando transport that hulked big and dark. Its coat of camouflage paint had not been skinned for extra speed as they'd already done with the aircraft based in England. Here above the vast desert, it still was too risky to fly a silver ship with the sun glinting on its fuselage and wings.

The major climbed into the dimly lighted belly of the transport without glancing back. Troy pulled himself up and heard Moffitt, Hitch and Tully following. Two jeeps—two very old, beat and battered jeeps—mounted with machine guns that hung loose were blocked and secured in the middle of the plane. Troy started for them angrily. Did the Army expect him to bring the Rat Patrol through a hundred and fifty miles of Jerry-held territory in these old wrecks?

The major closed and locked the door, stepping over to Troy.

"You're Sergeant Troy?" he asked crisply. "Blakely here. You're late. You'd better tell me what happened but just the essentials. I've quite a bit to say to you in very damned few minutes."

Troy shot another look at the jeeps before he answered. Maybe the decrepit hulls concealed Rolls Royce engines and high speed transmissions, he thought hopefully.

"There were three Jerries in Navy uniforms at the Sidi Bar," he said rapidly to Major Blakely. "They slipped knock-out drops in Hitch's and Tully's beers and tried to drag them off. Moffitt and I intercepted, but the Jerries followed. We dropped a Molotov in their jeep. They knew we were the Rat Patrol. I think other Jerry agents spotted Colonel Wilson and us and realized something is up. I suggest you get the colonel out of Algiers as fast as possible." Major Blakely swore under his breath and then a slow smile deepened the lines in his face.

"No harm done," he said and chuckled. "In fact, blowing up the jeep makes the act more convincing. Wilson said we should take you in confidence from the start but there wasn't the time nor the place. We were aware of the three enemy agents posing as sailors. We planned to use them. They were intended to observe you boarding the transport and see its takeoff. We wanted them to report you were on your way to the Great Sand Sea. But there are Arabs unloading cargo who are in Jerry's pay. The enemy will question them and it won't take long for the truck driver's story to make the rounds. This is turning out much better than we'd anticipated." Major Blakely laughed aloud. "After you tried to evade detection by blowing up the jeep, the Abwehr won't question anything."

"I thought this was Top Secret," Troy said heatedly. "You want the German Secret Service to know we flew out to the Great Sand Sea? What are we, decoys or bait?" 

"Neither, Troy, all this is smoke screen for your real mission," Major Blakely said good-humoredly. He sat in a metal bucket seat along the side and the four members of the Rat Patrol climbed onto the hoods of the jeeps and sat facing him. "Now listen carefully and I'll try to fill you in on the background and why we've gone through all these motions. You may have heard of the information network Count von Almaszy set up for the Abwehr in Cairo. They even had their own transmitter located under the altar in St. Theresa's church. We know the Abwehr has infiltrated agents into Algiers. You eliminated three of them tonight. There are many others. Some we know, some we suspect, others—" He shrugged. "We don't trust anyone."

Major Blakely paused and lighted a cigarette, tossing the package to Troy who lighted up and passed the cigarettes on. Troy waited tensely. He enjoyed intrigue.

"Jerry wants to know what we plan to do and where," Major Blakely continued, settling back. "We want to know what and where Jerry plans and we want to confuse him. Your room at the hotel was bugged. A microphone was hidden in the headboard of one of the beds. Colonel Wilson deliberately misled you—and Jerry—when he talked about the monster tank near the Great Sand Sea. We do know the Germans have some sort of testing ground for new weapons between the Great Sand Sea and the Quattara Depression and we want the enemy to believe that is where the Rat Patrol has been sent. That will leave you relatively free to operate where you can do the most good." He smiled, adding "For a while, at least, we hope."

"Which is where?" Troy asked quickly.

Major Blakely stood, pulling a map from the pocket of his blouse. Troy and Moffitt slid off the hood of one jeep and the G2 officer spread out the map. Hitch and Tully crowded in. Under the faint, yellow light, Major Blakely worked his finger down to Bir-el-Alam in the Cyrenaica peninsula of Libya. He jabbed at a half circle extending into the desert beyond Bir-el-Alam.

"Our winter defensive perimeter," he explained. His finger traveled south to an oasis and a town marked Agarawa located well below the southernmost point on the line of defense. "Somewhere near this Arabian community, Jerry has a staging area. There's a big build-up. One of our fighters chased a Stuka and reached Agarawa where he was jumped by three FW-190s. The pilot knew he was trapped and radioed back the information before they shot him down. He reported a massive tank unit somewhere beyond Agarawa. That's your only reference point. We want to know how many tanks, whether they're mediums or heavies and where Jerry plans to use them."

"Wouldn't air recon be the answer?" Troy asked, studying the map. Agarawa was approximately fifty miles south of the defense line.

"We've lost three planes trying," Major Blakely said tersely. "Jerry has thrown an umbrella over the area. The only answer is ground reconnaissance. That means the Rat Patrol. We think Jerry realizes this. With the Rat Patrol apparently dispatched to the proving ground near the Great Sand Sea, we hope the enemy will relax his vigilance at Agarawa."

"Rather neat," Moffitt murmured, "but doesn't that make this transport with its crew a sitting duck?"

"When the transport reaches the Libyan border," Major Blakely said, "it will be set on automatic pilot and the crew will parachute. If Jerry doesn't shoot it down before it reaches the proving ground, one of our own fighters will. Jerry will find the wreckage of the plane, parts of the jeeps. There also are some chimpanzee bones aboard which should be sufficiently convincing when they're charred." 

"That's going out in a blaze of glory," Troy said, grinning. "We're replaced by monkeys. The Rat Patrol is kaput."

"Only temporarily," Major Blakely assured him, shooting his wrist from his sleeve and glancing at his watch. "Now, this transport will taxi to the end of the runway and rev up the motors for takeoff. There will be a brief power outage and all the airfield lights will go off for five seconds. A fire fighting unit has been stationed off the end of the runway for the past five days. It's a dummy. The tank is empty and there's a hatch at the end where you can climb in. Get out of the transport and into the tank during those five seconds. As soon as the C-46 has taken off, a B-25 will taxi to the end of the runway and again there will be a five-second power failure. You are to board the B-25. It will fly you to Benghazi where your scheduled arrival is oh-five hundred, about one hour before dawn. A six-by-six covered truck will be awaiting you at the end of the landing strip and you will take immediate cover in that truck. The truck will join a convoy for Bir-el-Alam. Your truck and two other supply trucks will continue beyond Bir-el-Alam to our southernmost defensive position. From this point, you will be driven at night by armored car to a position which has been prepared approximately fifteen miles north of Agarawa. It is well concealed. Your jeeps, equipment and supplies are already there. You will operate only by night. When you have obtained your intelligence, you will bring it back to Bir-el-Alam. You will not—I repeat—will not break radio silence. Secrecy is essential. We do not want the enemy to know we are aware of his plans." He handed Troy a pocket notebook. "Your code book. It's simple and self explanatory. Memorize it and destroy before you leave Bir-el-Alam. If there are any messages for you, they will be transmitted between twelve-hundred and twelve-hundred-five hours each day. I believe that is all. Are there any questions?"

Troy shook his head, looking at Moffitt, who shrugged. Hitch shoved a stick of gum in his mouth and Tully reached for a matchstick.

"There is one more thing," Major Blakely said, glancing hastily at each of them in turn. "The three of you will remove your distinctive headpieces until your mission is completed. I don't care what else you wear, but you're too readily identifiable as you now stand. Keep under covers and on the alert for enemy agents."

He walked to the door, opened it, and when halfway out, turned to call in a loud, clear voice, "Good luck on your mission. Sergeant Troy."

The mission was routine enough, Troy thought, closing the door, except for one item. How were they going to find out what operation the enemy planned when only the unit's commanding officer and a few members of this staff would know what it was?

"I don't like giving up my Foreign Legion cap," Hitch said, frowning, when Troy turned.

"It's only temporary," Troy said, pulling off his bush hat. "Stick it under your shirt."

Hitch muttered under his breath and shoved his cap beneath his belt. When he looked back, Troy was buttoning his jacket over his hat. Hitch guffawed.

"You're not fat, your're pregnant, Sarge," he burst out. "Who was there? It wasn't me."

The first motor of the big transport turned over, whoofing and chugging, and caught. Then the second, third and fourth caught and the plane shook with their roaring. The battery truck scuttled away and the C-46 rolled slowly off the apron and swung onto the runway. Troy stood by the door, ready to leap. The runway lights faded and and the buildings went dark. Troy jumped into the night. He ran toward the tail of the ship with the blast from the engines tearing at his back. He heard feet thudding behind him on the asphalt. He saw the outline of a truck parked off the runway, ducked around it and swept the back of the tank until he found a handle. Jerking open the hatch, he tumbled inside, followed by the three others. It felt confined and smelled stale and he left the door open a crack to listen and watch for the B-25. The lights blinked on again and he heard the engines of the C-46 explode into full life as the big-bellied plane started its takeoff. It could scarcely have been airborne when the sound of other engines, high and whining, pierced the night.