Chapter 3 Wadi al-Jafa

An hour into the trip, the general woke out of his marauding Arabs-induced delirium, crawled out of the hanging cot and went to the front of the truck. He spoke hastily with his driver, who pulled the ambulance out of the chain of vehicles and sought out that of Capt. Rodriguez, the officer who was in charge of the convoy.

The captain's armored car ground to a halt and pulled off the hardpan onto softer sand, the driver hoping he didn't get stuck. Rodriguez upbraided the private driving the ambulance for pulling out of line until it was explained to him that it had been Gen. Tapscott who had ordered the pull-out.

When the general's white, wispy head poked out of the truck over the back gate, it was instantly met with the sight of an impatient Capt. Jose Rodriguez.

"You wanted to speak with me, sir?" Rodriguez asked in a faked tone of deference, as he reminded himself of 'military courtesy.'

"Yes, I wanted to know what our current position is."

"Couldn't you have asked the driver, sir?"

"I wanted to see the map and you with it. Help me down."

The gate was lowered and the general was helped onto his unsteady feet on the sand. Rodriguez went back to his vehicle and retrieved the sector map. Spreading it on the hood, he showed Tapscott where they were in relation to Benghazi.

"How long before we get there?"

"Another two to three hours, General. That is, if there're no major breakdowns or enemy attacks."

"How likely are those?" Tapscott asked nervously.

The general's heart just wasn't into another firefight. He was a desk-bound paper-pusher who had been assigned by a superior—a two-star Major General—to get out to the desert and toughen up. When he was given charge of the base, he had decided to institute some policies he had long cherished, and reassigning Troy and Tully had been the result. Not that they were the only ones. He had entangled the lives of about a dozen able men who found themselves moved around like chess pieces. Troy and Tully, being commandos with a certain cachet, had been just the tip of the iceberg.

"Why don't you ask them?"

With a nod, Rodriguez indicated that Troy and Hitch were returning. Their jeep was moving fast and kicking up sand in all directions as it slid to a stop next to Rodriguez and—oh, gosh no, Hitch thought—the general.

"What've you found, Sgt. Troy?" asked Rodriguez while Tapscott looked on.

"Plenty. Dietrich has a big crew and he's sending them all our way. With these slow trucks, we're goners for sure."

Tapscott spoke up. "I'd expect cowardice from a man like you, Sgt. Troy. That success with the Arabs this morning must have been a fluke of luck on our parts."

"What?" Troy asked. He nearly forgot to follow it up with 'sir.'

"If you could have run, wouldn't you have? Jailbirds always do."

"Captain," said the slightly heady-feeling Troy, "if we don't shake it, and I mean now, there won't be time to save the convoy. He's about two miles behind us and I'm sure he's following our tracks."

"Why doesn't he move in for the kill?" asked Rodriguez, who like Troy was ignoring Tapscott.

"He's probably seen the jeep tracks, and he's got to know the convoy's armed. Perhaps he's waiting for us to make a mistake." Troy thought a moment. "Are there any pinch-points in this area? Places where he could get the drop on us?"

Rodriguez gazed back down at the map. "Here," he said, "and here. Narrow ravines. But would he have time to get to either one of them, if he's behind us?"

"Since he thinks we don't know he's there, he might divide his forces and send the quicker armored cars and a half-track or two to the first of those points and wait for us to enter. His other vehicles might close the trap on us from the opposite ridge."

"Sounds logical," agreed Rodriguez, an old hand at outsmarting the Jerries on the open desert. He had been running convoys through to the frontlines or to bases like Benghazi for more than a year now. What the leader of the Rat Patrol said made sense to him.

"Maybe if we kept him occupied at that narrow point, at Wadi al-Jafa, he couldn't attack the convoy. If you were quick about it, you'd be able to get through," said Troy. "I know that pass. It's narrow, but far from being impassable."

"I agree, we'd have to look sharp." Rodriguez was just about to fold up the map and put it away when the brigadier had something to say about it.

"You two've got it all figured out, haven't you? Just sail through a narrow pass in these godforsaken hills and hope that enemy artillery doesn't blow you all to smithereens, is that my understanding?"

Troy nodded. "Yes, sir. I believe that if he splits his forces—in order to lay the ambush—the way I'm thinking he will, the convoy can get through."

"And what will you be doing, Sergeant? Lollygagging?"

"Sir?"

"You and your men have already fought one battle today. Maybe you think you'll sit this next one out?"

"Sir, I believe I said we'd keep Dietrich's column occupied. That means we go on the attack, while his forces are split up."

"In any case, I'm going with you to this Alfalfa pass and direct the action myself. When do we leave?"

"It's al-Jafa, sir," said Rodriguez, kindly, then he added, "General, I must advise you that the 'action' as you put it is probably going to be very hot indeed."

Troy was momentarily speechless, even agape at the forward one-star. If he knew what he was doing, it wouldn't be such a bad thing having him along. But this man was limited in his ability to face action and stay sane. That fight at the waterhole had nearly put him out of commission, though only Troy had been shot. His arm was still smarting although Moffitt had done a good job with alcohol and bandage.

"I've got to keep my eye on you, Sergeant, to see that you hold up your end of Capt. Rodriguez' plan."

"My plan, General? I only agreed that it's a good plan, but it's Sgt. Troy's plan, sir."

"We better get moving," said Troy, no longer feeling any sting from the general's words.

Some men were just that way, taking fright at their own shadows. At some point in his military career, Brig. Gen. Frank Tapscott must have been brave. He must have led men into battle, maybe he was wounded in the trenches of the Great War, maybe he was gassed, but his glory days were behind him now, and the pity of it was, he didn't know it. That could get them all killed and the convoy destroyed or taken apart by Capt. Dietrich for his own use.

Gen. Tapscott caused a stir among the other two Rats when Troy and Hitch met them at a prearranged spot on the desert. Moffitt and Tully had not even imagined he would 'tag' along into battle. After Troy explained what he and Hitch had seen of Dietrich's armored column, Moffitt blew out.

"That's a lot of firepower to bring against a simple convoy. I'm thinking he knew we would be acting as escort."

"My thoughts exactly, Doc," said Troy. "But then how did he know where we'd be? A spy at HQ?"

"Likely, there've been spies there before. Until they're rooted out, that is."

"What's this about spies?" asked Tapscott gruffly, as he came up behind Troy, startling him.

"HQ regularly has to root out spies from Tal Yata, sir," said Troy, turning with a salute. "They're—"

"I believe I asked him, Sergeant," said the general, pointing at Moffitt.

Moffitt almost rolled his eyes, but he gave a strained look at Troy anyway. "What Sgt. Troy said is true, General, down to the last word."

"Well, as long as you concur, Sgt. Moffitt."

Moffitt forced the words out, "I do," but thought he'd like to say more.

Hitch, on a nearby ridge peering through binoculars, suddenly pointed. "I can see dust, Sarge. It looks like only half of the column we saw earlier."

Moffitt turned to Troy. "That means Dietrich did split up his forces, planning to be on both ridges of the pass at once," he said.

"Where're they heading?" asked Troy, raising his voice a mite so Hitch could hear him.

"Towards the pass you showed us on the map. Wadi al-Jafa."

"The convoy? Where is it right now?"

"About four miles from the pass. The column will get there before Capt. Rodriguez does."

"General, if you will," said Moffitt. "We have to get into position." He turned away, thinking Tapscott would follow. He wanted to spell Troy for a while.

Troy was already making for the jeep he shared with Hitch, as Hitch came down from the dune on the run. Tully fired up the second jeep and Moffitt climbed in. Only Tapscott stood there, not knowing which way to turn.

"General, let's shake it!" Troy yelled. Then from behind the .50 cal. machine gun, he dryly added, "Sir!"

Aroused out of his befuddlement, Tapscott headed for Moffitt and Tully's jeep, then veered right and took the passenger seat again in front of Troy.

"Still keeping an eye on me, General?" Troy asked, laughing a bit. His laughter was all adrenalin now. He was ready for this battle, even though it wasn't a certainty if the general was as ready.

Troy knew that they could not fight one side of Dietrich's split column and let the other fire shots at the convoy in the pass, so once they got to the pinch-point, he signaled the jeeps to split up. Moffitt and Tully had the long way around to get to the other ridge. Once in position, the jeeps would be on their own with enough enemy firepower arrayed against them to bring down a B-17 bomber.

Rodriguez for his part would be putting his own armored vehicles up front of the convoy and training his own 20 mm cannons on the ridge-tops. He wasn't about to let his supply trucks—full of ammo, medical supplies and other needed war materiel—become sitting ducks.

Troy came in hard, raking the half-tracks and armored cars of Dietrich's lead force with the fifty and tossing a couple of grenades as Hitch flew around the rocky plateau above the wadi. Soon, gunfire erupted from the other side of the pass, as there Moffitt and Tully created a similar amount of havoc. Men died in the two German columns, but a few managed to fight back well enough, firing their 20 mm cannons and their own fifties, that both jeeps had to veer away. After softening Dietrich's forces up, Troy now turned the battle over to Rodriguez' approaching convoy.

The walls of the al-Jafa pass rang out with the thuds of mortars taking effect on the Germans. It was cannon against cannon, machine gun against machine gun. The walls were not so high that the Rodriguez missed his targets, but it helped that Troy and Moffitt on either side of the pass kept the Germans from breaking out by starting up their own fire again.

Then it happened. Gen. Tapscott, who had been hanging on for dear life in a jeep with few, if any, handholds, suddenly fell out into the sand as Hitch made a sharp 180 degree turn. He rolled and rolled down a slope towards where Dietrich himself was directing the firing on his side from his Kubelwagen. He happened to turn and see the general, whose leaner days were alas behind him, rolling towards him. It was not exactly manna from heaven, he thought, but it was a close second to what kept the Israelites alive in the desert for forty years. A one-star brigadier general!

He tapped his driver on the shoulder and Pvt. Kurt Hilfer jumped out of the car with him and sped over to the general as he rolled to a stop in front of them. His Luger in his hand, Dietrich threw military courtesy aside and grabbed hold of the general's tunic and turned him over.

"This must be Gen. Tapscott," he said to Hilfer at his side. "We were told he'd be with the convoy."

Hilfer nodded. He knew what a prize any high-ranking officer was to the German cause. Though he looked around just then, wondering when the jeep that had been carrying the general would come at them—gun blazing—he was happy for his captain that he had caught him.

"A great catch," he replied, bending down to help Dietrich lift the general to his feet.

Tapscott realized into whose hands he had fallen and wished he'd listened to Sgt. Troy and stayed with the convoy, preferably in the rear with the ambulance. The battle meanwhile was going in the Allies' favor. Several of the German vehicles had been rendered inoperable by the combined forces of the Rat Patrol and Rodriguez' men below in the pass. Many men had died on the walls, but the narrowness of the pass had somewhat sheltered the defenders from direct hits. A lot of the German artillery shells, overshooting the target, had bounced off the far walls of the ravine without hitting a single Allied truck or half-track.

Troy had Hitch pull up several hundred yards from where the general fell out. Dodging machine gun fire from some of the Germans, many of whom had taken cover behind big rocks to start an all-out infantry battle with men from the convoy, they raced for cover themselves. While Dietrich dragged the general out of the line of fire, his driver Kurt Hilfer following with his MP 40, Troy peeked around a boulder and tried to see where they were going with Tapscott.

For once, Tapscott was showing some sense by not fighting Dietrich and Hilfer's hold on his uniform jacket. They dragged him to a group of boulders and hunkered down as a shell burst overhead. Troy signaled Hitch and both ran from rock to rock to get within speaking distance of Dietrich and Hilfer. At last Troy made it as far as he dared go. Dietrich still had his Luger, Hilfer had his Schmeisser and the captain had disarmed Tapscott of his service weapon. In those rocks, they had a fort.

"Captain!" called Troy. "Capt. Dietrich! Listen up! If you let the general go, I'll let you go. You can take your vehicle and we won't shoot. I'm armed with a Thompson and so is Hitch. We couldn't miss if you tried to run for it, especially not with the general."

"Sgt. Troy, while I have the general you won't open fire."

Another shell, this time from an Allied mortar, whizzed overhead and blew up a stack of rocks twenty yards from Dietrich. Hilfer ducked and looked over at his captain, his eyes urging him to take the sergeant's offer to let them go.

"Dietrich!" Troy yelled. "The battle's going badly for your side. The convoy is already through with minimal damage. Think about my offer. You have five seconds."

Hitch looked over at Troy, not really sure what the Sarge was going to do in five seconds. Rush Dietrich's position? He mentally began counting.

Tapscott spoke up. "I have something to say about this. It's my life he's threatening. I order you to attack this position, Sgt. Troy!"

Troy wondered if he heard Tapscott right. Attack Dietrich's stronghold? With two capable defenders armed with several semi-automatic and automatic weapons?

"I'm afraid I can't do that, General. It's a standoff and only Capt. Dietrich can break it by giving up."

"I order you to rescue me, Sergeant!"

"Would you get my driver killed on a fool's play?"

From behind Troy, Moffitt and Tully drove up, parked and got out. Tully went to Hitch's side in the rocks and Moffitt joined Troy behind his boulder.

"Who's not giving up, Troy, you or Dietrich?" Moffitt asked.

"He's got Tapscott, but there's no way out for him unless we let him go." Troy laughed a little. "I gave him five seconds a minute ago."

"He's taking a while to think over your offer then."

"How's the rest of the battle?"

"Mopping up now. That Rodriguez fights as ferociously as we do."

Troy turned from studying the rocks hiding Dietrich's party. "Did the convoy get through okay?"

"They're out. Of course, they have wounded to tend to, but there's no more threat from Dietrich's men. The few who were left took off for the desert. I guess to lick their own wounds."

Troy got an idea and made a last ditch effort to smoke Dietrich out. "Captain, you're men are gone, Either dead or in retreat. There's no way out for you."

Dietrich had already grasped that fact. He slowly raised his hands, one holding the Luger, and Hilfer did the same, both men standing up and trusting to Troy's word. It had not been the first time he had trusted the American sergeant, nor would it be the last. The general took both their guns and stepped out of the rocks, herding them out with Dietrich's own Luger.

Troy and Moffitt, then their drivers slowly emerged, too. Every eye was on the two Germans as they came forward.

"You've won this time, Sgt. Troy. Next time, it's my turn," said Dietrich, always having to say some witty remark to salve his ego.

Troy laughed, but not unkindly. "It's a deal, Captain. There's your set of wheels. Get in and drive."

Dietrich dipped his head in the affirmative and gestured Hilfer to take the wheel while he got in the passenger seat. In no time, they had slipped through the rocks bordering the ravine below and made their getaway. Tapscott watched them go, then stepped closer to Troy.

"Sergeant, I want a word with you."

Troy met the general half-way. He expected a dressing-down, a regular chewing-out, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out why he'd get it. "Sir?"

"Are in the habit of letting this man, this Hauptmann Dietrich, go?"

"It's happened once or twice, sir. He's let us go a time or two, too."

"Is that a way to fight a war, Sergeant?"

"No, but it might be a way to win it." Troy moved about, impatient to be off again. "Begging your pardon, General, we're still on escort duty. The longer we speak, the more chance Dietrich's column will regroup and attack us again."

"Then I suggest you do what you do best, Sgt. Troy."

"Which is, sir?"

"Lead the Rat Patrol. I've giving you back your old jobs, you and Poindexter."

"Pettigrew!" Tully yelled from a dozen feet away.

Epilogue

"Catch it, Tully!"

It was a sight to behold! Four Rats on the run across the tarmac at the Benina airfield trying to catch a single sheet of paper. The front of it was a standard blank requisition form, but on the back Gen. Tapscott had written, "I want to apologize for acting the way I did, men. I realize I was a 'heel,' and had no right to impugn your characters, Sgt. Troy and Pvt. Pettipeace."

Tully Pettigrew grimaced at that as Troy read it out loud. Troy was trying to keep it from flapping in the arid wind that had blown up since they had saluted the general off on his transport plane.

"It's Pettigrew," Tully said to the now-distant general. "Not Pettipeace."

"I don't know, I kind of like it," said Moffitt to Tully's dismay. He knew he might never be called 'Pettigrew' again, though anything having to do with 'peace' in this war sounded good, even to his biased ears.

"Listen up!" Troy continued reading. "By this paper, I'm reversing all of my reassignments at the base. You might like to stay in the motor pool, Sgt. Troy, but I don't think the army would want you to do so."

Troy laughed at that, glad he was out of all that grease and motor oil. While his men exchanged affirmative glances, he read on.

"I can be a bit of a tyrant sometimes. Lord knows, several of my staff officers were on the verge of mutiny once or twice. But you took a bullet for me at the oasis, Sergeant, and even with a wounded arm, you stayed out there fighting. That takes guts, Sgt. Troy. And guts are what I admire!"

Neither of the Rats could help laughing at that. Troy sucked in a deep breath and with his eyes watering he continued, "So, try not to get shot up, men, until the war's over. And if you do, I'm sure I can find a job for a few broken-down commandos in my office."

"We've got to stay well, guys!" said a red-faced Moffitt, still chortling. "If only to avoid that fate!"

"I agree," said Hitch and Tully together. They looked at each other strangely for saying the same thing at the same time. It was 'a great minds think alike' moment.

And then the wind blew up. The paper was lifted out of Troy's hand and began to make curlicues and arabesques and figure eights into the ether of a clear-blue sky. That's when the chase was on to catch it.

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