Rat Patrol: The Odysseus and Penelope Raid

Lily Fear Parker

Chapter One

I Wanna Be Loved By You played over the radio receiver headphones as Private Mark Hitchcock reclined against the machine gun mount, blowing a huge pink bubble. The sturdy young man frowned at the sun, then pulled his red cap over his eyes. The bouncing of the jeep made it nearly impossible for him to sleep.

He swatted at Private Tully Pettigrew, the driver. Irritably he grumbled, "What are you doing, Tully? Hitting every pothole in the road?"

Sergeant Jack Moffitt, who was leaned against the machine gun in a standing position, relaxed and jostling every-which-way, laughed, "I think he lost the road miles back, chap."

Sergeant Sam Troy, who rode in the front with Tully, looked over his shoulder at the two in the back. "If I trade you spots, will you quit your moaning?"

"Sure!" spoke up Hitchcock quickly. He switched places with his sergeant. Then he offered him the headset. "The music will ease the pain of his driving."

The Kentuckian acted as if he hadn't heard a single word they said and kept the jeep straight. Driving in North African desert terrain was not an easy task and he thought about telling them so, but it wasn't as if the others had meant the criticism...It just helped pass the time.

"I hope the captain has a handful of jeeps on hand at Citi Kamal." said Moffitt, swaying with the machine gun.

Troy turned the radio off. He envisioned the jeep he'd been in seconds before the explosion. It had lit the monotonous blue stretch of sky with violent shades of black, red, and orange.

"I just hope this one holds together a little longer than the first one." he said distantly. "Hey Sarge, what is it Citi Kamal means again?" asked Tully. Moffitt perked up. Although both sergeants were called 'Sarge', there was no doubt the question had been meant for Moffitt. The handsome Englishman spoke four languages and had been raised on this same barren desert for half his life. He was a doctor of Anthropology, and an expert on Africa and its Arab tribes.

"City of Completion, or something to the like." said the sergeant without hesitation.

"Are there Arabs or civilians there?" asked Hitchcock, wrinkling his nose before popping a new bubble. His gum was grainy with sand.

"What you mean, Hitch," began Troy, his stony blue eyes uncommonly playful, "'Is are there girls there?'"

The private winked, adjusting his dust-covered glasses. "Guy's got a right to enjoy himself!"

"No, it's strictly military personnel as far as I am aware." responded Moffitt.

"Drat."

Tully smiled. "I know a mess sergeant I can introduce you-"

The rest of the comment was lost after Hitchcock whacked him in the jaw.

Troy grinned to himself. The two privates were as different as day and night. Hitch was a pretty boy, blond hair, arctic blue eyes, confident square jaw... Tully was quiet-spoken, lean faced, with large, soft brown eyes. Hitchcock was a Boston Ivy Leaguer who dropped out without his father's consent to join the army. Pettigrew was a moonshine runner from the hills of Kentucky, who could have driven the jeep at twelve years old better than anyone Troy had ever met - and why not? He'd already had years of experience behind him at that age.

Sam Troy, himself, was an American desert rat who'd served with the Australians and wore a bush hat as a memento. Before that - Gosh, that seemed like a different lifetime- he'd lived in Ohio, very unhappy with a fenced in backyard for stomping grounds. Then the Aussies, then he was a foot soldier who had a concerning lack of knowledge when it came to Military respect for one's officers. Or maybe he had that knowledge and just didn't care to apply it. The next thing he knew, they pulled him aside and stuck him with a trio of privates... one named Cotter.

He glanced at Jack Moffitt, then back at the burning sand and rock. How angry he had been when they sent in this... this scholar to replace his friend. He and Cotter had grown close, as all men would with this job, as he and Jack had. Now, however, he didn't know what they would do without the cool, level-headed sergeant. If it ever came to that, he wouldn't know what to do... and yet he'd thought that about people before.

"Sam?" Moffitt looked at him, cocking his head like a curious puppy. "What are you thinking about?"

Troy's eyes were glazed over. The playfulness that had glittered in them earlier vanished as he answered, "Death."

"Oh..." Moffitt actually smiled, but his eyes were grim as well. "Why think of that? We're almost back to Citi Kamal. After that a new jeep and we'll take off to HQ, I suppose. I wonder if the rainy season will be bad this year? Last year it was practically hell. What is it they always say? 'The man in hell needs a glass of water.' and last year I'd have gladly given him mine."

Troy blew air from his nose in a weak attempt to laugh. He fished a cigarette from his breast pocket. The desert was a bog in rainy weather, but as soon as the sun returned, the ground reappeared too quickly. Troy began laughing internally as he realized Moffitt had won; The Englishman had diverted his attention to lighter thoughts.

"Almost there, Sarge." Tully said over the jeep's drone. "Four more miles and I'm steppin' on it."

"Great." Troy replied, and leaned over Hitchcock's shoulder. "Hitch, got a light?"

When the overloaded jeep rolled into Citi Kamal, Troy's cigarette dropped from his loose lips, landing on Moffitt's bare knee. The British sergeant absently flicked it away as he stared, open-mouthed, at the ruins of the city. Burning vehicles, dead bodies, ash and smoke, crushed buildings. The gate guardhouse's door was ajar and a young soldier lay half in and half out, bloodied and blackened.

Tully clinched his jaw in anger and slammed the steering wheel.

"Easy old man," cooed Moffitt, easing down from the machine gun.

"Who did this?" murmured Hitch, gaping at the scene. "Jerries don't have a strong hold this far back. They couldn't get the equipment here unless they had fuel dumps and I thought we'd destroyed them all for fifty miles!"

Troy jumped out of the jeep and hurried to the dead guard. He knelt beside him, grabbing the tags from his neck. "My bet would be we missed one."

Sensing the shock in Hitchcock's face, Moffitt gently touched his shoulder as he got down. Offering support to full grown men without offending them wasn't easy; Jack had learned it was easiest to make it look like a mistake and go on.

Troy turned, strangely unshaken by the scene. "Let's see if there's anything we can find that'll make sense of this, Jack. Tully, Hitch, get the others." he ordered, as he smacked the tags down on the warm hood of the jeep and strode off.

Moffitt loped after him, beret in hand. He thought about saying something, then refrained from doing so. One look at Sam's face confirmed he wasn't in the mood to talk. And in all honesty, neither was he. A crumbled home had unexpectedly rattled him. It looked familiar, even if he'd never seen it before. A place that had hidden in the back of his mind for years until this moment.

"Hey, Moffitt!" called Troy. "See anything?"

Moffitt pulled his attention away from the rubble and shook his head grimly. "Nothing yet."

"I found Captain Monroe. Dead. Shot through the head."

"Yes?" Moffitt said, glancing at another dead soldier only long enough to get the image branded in his mind.

"Yeah." The two picked through the buildings, the rubble of broken brick and mortar, and the well-traveled road. Only hours ago, men - mostly men hardly older than 18- had walked here, marched and drilled and patrolled. Now their bodies littered the streets. It was a barbaric act done by a pack of lawless Nazis. The sight of such a... there were no words to describe it. The slaughter of mankind in such a large quantity- German, American, English, French, African, Arabian - was absolutely revolting and infuriating.

Suddenly, Troy perked up. "Hey, Moffitt! Quick!"

Troy was bent over a young man, dark skinned with tight curly black hair. He was breathing heavy and blood was caked on his chest. The uniform he wore identified him as a private. His helmet lay six feet away.

"Easy," Troy ordered, as he pulled the man's shirt away from his wound. He cringed in agony as it became exposed.

"Take it easy." Troy urged again. The man's pecan brown eyes flickered open as Moffitt knelt down beside him.

"The lady..." "Shh, easy now." Moffitt said, stroking his forehead gently. "The lady- the- the kid..." he rasped.

Moffitt carefully removed the man's dog tags from his neck and read them. "Take it easy Theodore. Teddy?"

The man briefly showed his pearly white teeth. "Yeah... you- you've gotta find the kid."

"Sure, sure." Troy said, leaning away. There was no way this soldier would survive. "We'll find the kid."

"And t-the lady."

"And the lady," Troy reassured him, nodding.

Theodore Hugh's eyes blinked, then locked on the sky and he again smiled. "I'm goin' home, ain't I?"

Troy's eyes flicked to Moffitt then back to the private. "Yeah."

"This ain't such a bad way to go." the man said bravely, and he sighed his last breath.

Chills ran up Moffitt's spine as the man went limp. He'd just heard the spirit leave the body.

Troy rose. "Fever talk?"

Moffitt was fingering Theodore's dog tags, thoughtfully rubbing the metal together in his palm. He took a long moment before he stood with Troy's help. "I don't know. He seemed convinced there was a 'Lady' and a 'Kid' here."

Without emotion, Troy scanned the grounds coldly. "If she was here, she's dead or captured."

"And the child?"

Again, the sergeant glanced around. "Same, I'd guess."

"I can check around for them." Moffitt offered.

Sensing the Englishman needed a minute alone, he nodded. "You do that. I'll go check back with Hitch and Tully. Meet you there in...fifteen minutes?"

"Right." agreed Moffitt. Troy walked back over to the frozen scene of destruction and bloodshed, gathering handfuls of dog tags on the way. He couldn't save their lives now, as he'd missed the Krauts by a few hours, but he would at least inform their families what happened, and that they were dead. 'Missing in action' was perhaps the harshest thing you could tell a soldier's family. They spent the rest of their lives searching for their loved one everywhere; in newspapers, magazines and wounded soldier camps - and even seeing them on the streets randomly. It was better for them to know they were dead.

Tully waved when the sergeant came in view. "Hey, we found someone. He's got a busted leg."

The soldier in question leaned against the jeep while Hitchcock was binding his leg tightly. A cold sweat was dotting at the man's forehead and his lips were clinched between slightly crooked teeth. His greenish-gray eyes were hollow and red rimmed.

"Corporal?" Troy nodded and glanced at his wounded limb. "How you doin'?"

"Alright sergeant." the man groaned painfully. "Name's Lewis, Surely Lewis."

"I'm Troy. Did you know a Private Theodore Hugh?"

"Yes." Lewis caught his breath. "Yes, a colored fellow. Pretty good guy..."

"Before he died," Troy began in a cautious tone. He wanted information badly, but also didn't want to send Lewis over the edge he was teetering on. "He said something about a woman. And a kid. Said we had to find 'em."

Lewis nodded and flexed his jaw. "Yeah, a German woman."

"German?" asked Hitchcock incredulously, standing up and stretching his back.

"Yes, a pretty one at that." Lewis moved his leg and nodded his thanks at Hitch. "She hadn't learned the allies had taken this base and she came all the way from Germany, or so she told Captain Monroe. We all admired her, you know, she was a brave little thing. She brought her two-year-old girl with her. Didn't speak much English, but she communicated well enough. Anyway, she showed up here and couldn't believe this was an Allied base, but when Monroe said he was sending her back to Germany, she flat out refused. Said she and- and Franka, I think the little girl's name was- were staying here until she found her Hans. She never did tell us her last name. So, she was Wilhelmina and she was married to Hans. Like we'd find out who she or her husband were with names like those."

Troy laughed a little and watched as Lewis wearily ran his gaze over the war-torn town.

"So what happened?" the sergeant pressed.

"Well, that was three days ago. Monroe put her under the care of his orderly, that was Teddy Hugh, until he found some way to send her back without her scalping him. She kinda took a liking to Teddy, she said it was because she'd always heard propaganda junk about colored folks. She heard they'd ruin the master race and the 'New Order' or whatever and she said he seemed real nice." Surely Lewis blinked and ran his fingers through his blond hair. A sad smile played at his lips. "I guess the two of 'em are dead now. No way the kid lived through this- unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless Teddy tucked 'em in the Cap's wine cellar." Lewis shrugged. "That was probably the safest place since the Jerries didn't stick around to search the grounds."

"Can you walk if Hitch helps you?"

"Sure thing." Lewis said, but he sounded somewhat unsure.

Troy nodded his head forward. "Lead the way to that cellar."

Hitchcock offered his shoulder for Lewis and they hobbled in the direction of the cellar.

Soon Pettigrew, Moffitt, Troy, and Hitchcock dug alternately to unearth the Captain's wine cellar while Lewis slept fitfully. Once, Tully paused and cocked his ear, stating he plainly heard a baby's cry. The others didn't hear it, but not for a second did they doubt the Kentuckian. His senses were sharpened by both his first profession and the harsh desert.

Troy was the one who uncovered the door. Pulling as hard as they could, the four pried it open. Half of the cellar was destroyed, the ceiling caved almost to the floor, leaving a four-foot crawl space. Dust stung at Moffitt and Tully's eyes as they wriggled inside on their stomachs.

"Troy, a flashlight!" Moffitt called over his shoulder. Coughing through the cloud of ash-filled air, he reached back and felt around until he touched it. He clicked it on and kept snaking forward in the dim light.

"Sarge!" Tully said, his voice urgent. "I got the baby."

Moffitt painstakingly worked his way to the private. A young child was swaddled in a blanket, sobbing. A trail of blood trickled down her cherub-like face. He took her gently and started back without saying a word.

Troy started in the cellar after Tully as soon as Moffitt's curly black hair showed. Slowly Moffitt rose to his feet with the child and unwrapped it. It would have been a very pretty child if one could see it through the dust and also if it's chin had been a little firmer. As a girl however, that feature wouldn't matter much.

"She's alive." Moffitt said to Hitch, and he ripped a piece of his shirt and soaked it in water from a canteen. He tried not to gush, but couldn't help adding, "And she's adorable, actually."

Hitch peered over his shoulder at the baby, then, unimpressed, went back to watching the door for Troy.

The water helped clean some of the blood from the child's face and hands, then Moffitt wiped away at the grime. Before long, Franka had stopped crying and stared up at her savior's face with huge brown eyes. A tiny twitch played at her nose and Moffitt smiled broadly at her. She smiled back.

"Moffitt! Hitch!" Troy called, "We've got the woman! She's in bad shape, we're pulling her out."

Moffitt looked tenderly at the baby girl, wondering if she would live life without a mother. He set her in the seat of the jeep, then thought twice about that location. So instead he deftly swaddled her in the blanket, settling her by the wheel in the shade. She soon resumed crying as he left to help the others.

Hitch was kneeling beside the door, pulling Troy's legs as he tried to wriggle out of the tight space.

"Here," Troy grunted when his head was visible. "Get her arm,"

They could hear little Franka screaming while Moffitt helped tug. "How bad is she?" Moffitt inquired. "I couldn't tell in there." huffed Troy, pulling in unison. "She's unconscious." A golden blond head of hair and a frail form soon was uncovered. The woman had an attractive face, but somewhat mousy, like the child's. There was a nasty wound on her shoulder and her left leg. Her naturally fair skin was set off by her dusty, navy blue dress.

Tully climbed out and nodded at Moffitt. Concerned by the cries he asked, "How's the baby?"

"She's okay." Moffitt replied quickly and knelt down to help the woman. He absorbed himself fully in the task and didn't say a word until fifteen minutes later, when he realized the child's sobbing had stopped altogether. He looked over at the jeep where he'd left her.

"Where's-" He smiled privately, seeing the girl was asleep, nestled in Tully's bulky arms.

THANKS FOR READING (:

SHOULD HAVE CHAPTER TWO ON SOON