Dilemma in the Desert Read online

  Chapter Two

  January 30 Morning

  Even though it had been late the previous night before they had gotten to sleep, Drew and Abu were up early the next morning. When they tried to enter the mess hall an MP, or Military Policeman, stopped them. “No Arabs allowed inside,” the nattily dressed soldier stated firmly.

  Drew drew himself up to his full height, “Private, this man is with me.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but I have orders to keep all Arabs out.” He didn’t sound very sorry.

  Drew gave him a haughty stare, “I’ll have you know that Major General Fredendall himself ordered us to work together on a very important mission. I don’t think you want me to report to him that you kept us from eating breakfast.”

  The MP wilted at the mention of the corps commander but gamely rattled on, “I would have to have orders from my superior, sir.”

  “Fine,” Drew soothed, “you go ask him while we eat.” Drew brushed past him and went inside where the two of them enjoyed a rather frugal breakfast, food supplies being rather lean. When they left the mess hall, the MP stared straight ahead, pretending not to see them.

  Drew left Abu at the car while he went exploring for information. He visited several command centers and tried to get some answers from the commanders at Tebessa, but they seemed to be woefully ignorant of conditions at the front. “The situation is very fluid,” he was told. “The main problem is getting through the Eastern Dorsale, the range of mountains between Kassarine and Sfax. There are only a few passes but the French are holding most of them. Your best bet would be to take the Faid Pass.”

  “Can I draw a civilian vehicle from the motor pool?” He asked. He drew amazed looks. “Civilian vehicle? Here? They all disappeared years ago. They were either confiscated by the French or torn down for their spare parts,” was his answer.

  “Do you have any idea where I could obtain one?” he asked exasperatedly.

  “Well,” the captain that Drew was conversing with scratched his nose thoughtfully, “off the record, when you get to the Frenchies you could see if you could swap vehicles with them, sorta temporary like. I don’t think too many of their vehicles are marked.”

  “But, I signed for this vehicle, I have to return it to the pool,” Drew was confused.

  “Uh huh, but things happen at the front lines, you know, breakdowns and suchlike,” the captain said vaguely.

  “Oh, I see,” Drew was rather nonplussed at the way things worked up at the front. He was used to a tidier system.

  He returned to the vehicle and to Abu Mehouf, who was patiently waiting. “It sounds like the Faid Pass is the best route for us, what do you think?” Drew politely asked in French.

  “That is what I have learned also, effendi,” Abu replied in the same language.

  Drew stared at him in amazement, “How did you learn that?”

  Abu waved his arm vaguely in the air, “I asked around, the Arabs know much.” I’ll bet, thought Drew grimly to himself. “What do we do when we reach Faid?” Abu asked, ingratiatingly. “We’ll find out when we get there,” Drew could be vague also. They gassed up the vehicle and drove towards the Faid Pass, unknowingly driving straight into a battle.

  That morning the Germans struck the French at Faid Pass. Although the French stopped the main assault on the pass, the Germans swept through a pass south of their position and encircled them. It was this arm that Drew ran into. When he saw the dust up ahead, he thought nothing of it, “Must be troops moving up into line,” he mused to Abu. His first inclination of trouble was when they topped a little rise and ran smack dab into a column of German tanks, who were just as surprised.

  “Look out!” screamed Drew as he yanked the steering wheel around. Out of the dust a German tank loomed right in front of them. The sound of machine gun bullets screamed as they tore through the U.S. marked vehicle, then came the explosion as the tank fired a round at point blank distance into them. The staff car exploded in a burst of fire and dust, but Drew had bailed out when he saw the tank right in front of his car and was already running away, zigzagging through the tank column, hidden by the dust cloud. When he reached cover on the far side of the column, he flung himself to the ground, gasping for breath, in shock that he had made it safe this far. He cautiously raised his head, looking back towards the way he had just come. He saw the glow of his burning vehicle through the dust, and he caught a momentary glimpse through a break in the dust of some German vehicles near it, but to his utter amazement the column of German armored vehicles kept moving on. He took another look but couldn’t see anybody running around looking for him. “What incredible luck,” he thought to himself, “they must not have seen me running away because of all the dust and fire.” He risked another look around, trying to see if Abu had made it also, but couldn’t see anything, “Poor guy, the machine gun must have got him, or maybe the tank shell.” He hadn’t really liked him, but he still felt sorrow at the death of someone that he had known, however briefly. He slithered away taking advantage of every bit of cover.

  When he had covered enough distance to feel relatively safe, he sat down and took stock of his situation. It was definitely not encouraging. He had lost his transportation, his civilian clothes, and his guide; he was trapped behind enemy lines with no food or water and armed with only a .45 pistol, and by all appearances a battle either raging or about to rage between him and friendly forces. As he sat there, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he thought about his ignominious return to headquarters and explaining to Colonel Nuckells how he hadn’t even made it to the Allied front lines. This was his first clandestine mission and now undoubtedly his last. As he felt his pockets to see if he had missed anything, he felt his false id and then the wad of francs. He still had those, at least. His head rose as he thought of the possibility of continuing the mission. It would mean traveling the seventy odd miles to Sfax, dodging the enemy all the way, finding civilian clothes, finding the café, making contact with the mysterious Monsieur Gascoigne, and then returning again. His shoulders straightened and his jaw squared: the colonel had told him to use his own initiative, and he would! The first order of business would be to find food and water, and then start the trek eastward. He took a long look around and then started walking.

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