Dilemma in the Desert Read online

  Chapter Five

  January 31

  Angelique woke in the morning, shivering from the cold. She hurriedly performed her morning ablutions, ate a little breakfast, filled her canteen, broke camp and started walking eastward. All day long she staggered up and down the stony hills and crossed dry wadis, the heat and dust drying out her throat, perspiration running down her dusty face. When the wind blew, it picked up pieces of grit which stung her face. At every break she took one swallow of water and held it in her mouth, letting the liquid soak into the tissues. That night she made a dry camp, ate her meal and tumbled into an exhausted sleep. But just before falling asleep, she remembered that it was January 31, and wondered what the new month would bring, if it could be any worse than the last three months had been.

  Early that morning the American troops were awakened, ate their breakfast, and then waited for orders to attack. It took hours to move the tired troops into place for the attack, and the American commanders underestimated the force it would take to defeat the Germans and therefore did not use their full strength. Corporal Shaw busied himself making sure the men were outfitted and ready for battle, his calm demeanor masking his growing unease. He also got a feel for the size of the attacking force by walking around and visiting with other non-coms (non-commissioned officers, i.e. sergeants and corporals). His unease mounted as he learned how small the attacking force was.

  At last the orders to attack were given. “Too little and too late,” Corporal Shaw muttered to himself as he followed his sergeant into battle. The attack soon fell apart and the German counterattack overpowered the Americans, smashing the formations and scattering men in all directions.

  “Set up the BAR here,” Sergeant Andersson bellowed over the noise of exploding shells and gunfire, dust filling the air and obscuring the men running around. Obediently the team with the Browning Automatic Rifle plopped down and started to position the rifle which Andersson was trying to use to cover his squad’s retreat. Dane was trying to gather the rest of the squad into a cohesive group when shadowy figures loomed up, shouting German words and swamped the group around the rifle. Dane heard yells and screams, but knowing there was nothing he could do screamed at his squad, “Follow me!” and started running away from the overwhelming force.

  Shells started exploding around them, whether American or German Dane couldn’t tell but he rather figured it was the latter. “Hit the dirt!” he yelled and tried to bury himself into the rocky soil, explosions going on all around him. A shell lit only a few yards away, showering him with rock fragments, and one sharp fragment sliced his sleeve, leaving half of his corporal stripes flopping but missing his skin. He ignored the pain from the flying fragments and jumped to his feet, “Fall back,” he roared to his squad, but then hesitated. Which way was back? It was noon and the sun was overhead, giving him no direction, and the dust and smoke obscured the surroundings. The constant shell bursts and noise of unseen vehicles drowned out normal conversation and added to the confusion. He started in what he thought was the right direction but halted when two yellowish monsters became visible in the murky air. German tanks! And he was looking at their rear ends as they moved away from him, which meant that the American position had been overrun. More shapes were appearing around them, some were vehicles and some were men. “This way,” he called to his men as he led the half dozen survivors in a new direction, southeast, he thought. They ran, zigzagging, trading gunfire with half-seen figures, flopping to the ground and gasping for breath, and then rising up and running again.

  Suddenly figures materialized in the dust ahead of them. Both groups to their shock realized the other group was the enemy! Too close to fire their rifles, Dane with his quick reflexes was the first to attack, smashing the nearest German’s head with his Thompson submachine gun, pirouetting with the grace of a ballet dancer as he spun and thrust the barrel like a spear into the midsection of a second German, who doubled up and fell. A third German appeared out of the haze and thrust at him with a bayonet on his rifle. Dane instinctively dodged, slapping the rifle aside with his submachine gun and hitting him in the front of the throat with a savage karate blow that crushed the German’s larynx. That stopped the German in his tracks and Dane smashed him in the head with the butt of his submachine gun and the German fell, never to rise again. By then the first two Germans were getting up. The one with the bloody head was on his knees pulling out his sidearm and the other was getting to his feet, his face rather green from the blow to his midsection. Dane leveled his submachine gun and shot them both with short bursts. His gun clicked on an empty chamber.

  He could hear the sounds of fighting all around him, curses and screams of pain in both English and German. He saw a German stab one of his men who collapsed. Whipping out his own knife, Dane plunged towards him. The German slashed at him and Dane ducked under the blade, smashing a fist into his solar plexus with a blow so terrific it lifted the German off of his feet, and then with a slash of his knife cut the throat of his antagonist wide open.

  He spun and took a quick glance around. All the Germans were down but so were three of his own men. It took only a quick check to see all three were dead. A break in the dust showed more Germans close by. “Run!” Dane shouted to his men.

  Private Andy Woolson looked down in shock at the crumpled German form at his feet. The man had come at him out of the dust suddenly, catching him by surprise. Andy had had no time to be scared, his training had taken over and he reacted without thinking. Now he had killed a man face to face for the first time ever. Frozen, he could only stare down at the body when Tielson, another private, grabbed his arm and yelled, “Let’s go!” Andy started running after the others, his mind in turmoil. He was only nineteen.

  At last Dane and the three surviving privates were out of the battle proper, and Dane saw a heap of rocks behind which could be shelter. “Over there,” he directed, and they pounded their way around them and stopped in surprise, it was already inhabited by three Americans: two privates and a captain.

  “Sir!” Dane saluted, glad to see an officer, and dropped to the ground, followed by his men, all of them panting. Captain Matthews returned the salute and croaked, “Corporal.” He saw Dane’s canteen, “Water, please,” in his husky voice. “Uh, yes sir,” and Dane handed over his canteen. Drew started guzzling the water and Dane yelled, ‘Stop!” and grabbed the canteen. “Only take a swallow and hold it in your mouth,” he snapped. Drew looked at him, “That’s the first water I’ve had since yesterday morning,” he croaked.

  The seven of them sat down and looked at each other and Drew took another sip. “I’m Captain Matthews, and these are Privates Zabronski,” pointing to a bear of a man with thick, bushy black hair, “and Webster,” a smaller nineteen year old. “They arrived here only a few minutes ago.”

  “I’m Corporal Shaw of the 26th and these are Privates Woolson, Fredericks and Tielson, what’s left of my squad,” he added bitterly. Tielson was 21 and a country boy from upper New York, well used to the outdoors and roughing it. Fredericks was a brash 20 year old city boy from Baltimore. Woolson was a shy, plump 19 year old, from a Kansas farm.

  “What happened?” Drew asked, pointing to the battlefield, and as Dane explained, Drew thought about revising his plans. Trying to make it to Sfax all by himself would run the risk of a single, solitary, German soldier destroying the mission; he could not keep watch at night while he slept, anyone coming along could capture or kill him. It would increase his odds of fulfilling the mission if a squad accompanied him. He made up his mind. Dane finished talking and looked at the captain interrogatively; he had noticed that the captain had not identified his unit.

  “I’m on an intelligence mission,” Drew announced, “and I am ordering you to accompany me. I have to secure vital information and return it to headquarters.” He looked at their startled faces; the corporal gulped and finally said, “Yes sir.” His three privates looked at each other, but if the corporal was going along then they had no choice.
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  “What are your orders, sir?” Dane asked.

  Drew hesitated, rather at a loss for specifics. “We need to get through these mountains.”

  “To the other side?” Dane yelped. “That’s the German side!”

  “Yes,” Drew nodded firmly. Dane gulped again.

  “Now wait a minute,” Zabronski’s deep voice interrupted. “I signed up as a soldier, not to be a spy behind enemy lines. I am not going!” and he glared at the captain from beneath shaggy black eyebrows. Captain Matthews hesitated, trying to think of a response. Corporal Shaw whirled around to face Zabronski, “You signed on to obey orders, and you will obey this one!” his voice cracked with authority. Zabronski stared into Dane’s face, and something he saw there made him shut his mouth and subside.

  After making sure that Zabronski was cowed, at least for the moment, Dane took a careful look around but saw nobody in the vicinity. “Let’s pool our resources,” he suggested. The captain explained how he had lost all of his gear and how he had been wandering around yesterday and today, avoiding German troops.

  After everyone had inventoried their gear, both of them looked distressed. There were four rifles, Webster had ‘lost’ his, with 100 rounds of ammo, a submachine gun, three .45’s, six canteens (two of them empty), enough food for a day or two, and other miscellaneous supplies. “If I may make a suggestion sir?” Dane asked. “We are all tired out. We spent three hours last night in the cold sitting in trucks waiting to move out,” he added bitterly, “and fought a battle today. If we rest now until evening and then spend an hour or two scrounging supplies from out there,” pointing to the battlefield, “we would stand a much better chance of making it through the pass in the dead of night.”

  “Good suggestion, corporal,” the captain agreed.

  During the few remaining hours of late afternoon and dusk, they laid there. Tired out, some slept and some dozed, then they ate some cold rations while they waited for darkness.

  When night came, Dane passed out instructions, “We need food, water, and ammo for our guns. Webster, you get a rifle, everyone get a German greatcoat and helmet, that may help us get through the pass. We’ll divide up into three groups and meet back here in an hour, sooner if possible. Zabronski, you come with me.” Dane had his doubts about the big Russian and wanted to keep his eye on him. Soon all seven of them were out scrounging.

  The moon was only a crescent, and waning, but the stars were bright in the thin desert air. However, it was still not easy to make out the details of the landscape and pick out suitable targets for their scavenging. Drew and Woolson found a jackpot right off the bat. A German halftrack had taken a direct hit, and half a-dozen bodies were lying around. They loaded up with coats, helmets, and a five gallon can of water. Wisely, Drew also grabbed their backpacks so the Americans could carry their supplies. Webster, Fredericks, and Tielson had a little harder time of it; they came back with an American rifle, ammo and some food. Dane and Zabronski headed off in a different direction. Seeing a few lights bobbing about, they took a wide detour around them and stumbled across a dead American sergeant. Dane searched the body for ammo for his submachine gun. Some sixth sense made him look up to see Zabronski easing out of sight.

  “Zabronski,” Dane said conversationally, his submachine gun pointed in his direction. Zabronski stopped, “I thought I saw some bodies over there,” he excused himself. “We’ll look over there in a minute,” Dane answered, and then continued pulling ammunition from the body. A search in the area produced no more bodies. Zabronski just shrugged, “I must have been mistaken.” It took another half an hour to find some food, two canteens, four German hand grenades, and two German coats and helmets, and then they started to return to the others.

  A whisper of the sound of running feet was their only warning. As both men whirled around they saw three Arabs coming at them. Scavengers, they had also been looting the dead and wounded, robbing them of their valuables, and they thought these two Americans would be easy targets. They were wrong.

  Two of them rushed at Zabronski, while one lunged at Dane with his knife. Burdened with the coat and helmet, Dane flung them away before grabbing his foe’s knife hand and falling on his back from the rush put on by the Arab. He was able to double his feet up and kick him in the abdomen, using the momentum to somersault the hapless Arab over his head. Rolling to his feet as quick as a cat, Dane spared a glance for his companion. Zabronski had smashed in the head of one of his assailants with his rifle. By then, Dane’s opponent was on him again.

  Dane made another grab for his knife arm but missed, grabbing a handful of sleeve instead. He yanked on it as the Arab tried to plunge the blade into Dane, deflecting his aim. The Arab was lithe and strong and wrenched his sleeve out of Dane’s grasp. The battle was almost soundless, as none of the antagonists wished to draw attention to themselves by yelling or shooting. Dane made a grab for his own knife but the Arab lunged at him again. Dane avoided the attack by a surprisingly agile twist of his body, surprising to the Arab anyway, and hooked a right jab to his jaw, a blow that stunned the Arab momentarily. Now Dane was able to pull his knife out.

  They circled each other, and then Dane made a feint which was ignored. Again the Arab plunged in, and Dane caught the knife blade with his own and smashed his left hand into the Arab’s face, breaking his nose. The Arab stumbled back and Dane leapt forward, burying his knife into him. The Arab collapsed, dead.

  Dane whirled around to see Zabronski grab his foe, wrap a massive arm around his head, and with a fiendish look on his face snap his neck. Zabronski looked with satisfaction at the two he had killed, mentally comparing himself with that little corporal who had barely beat out one attacker. Once again he had proved himself the better man, and his chest puffed out with pride. Zabronski hadn’t seen how agile and powerful the ‘little corporal’ was, as he had been too busy with his own fight.

  They made it back to the rendezvous just in time. Nobody had found any working vehicles, and nobody else had had any run-ins with any other scavengers. They divided up the loot and started making their way towards the pass.

  As Andy Woolson fell into line and started walking, he stumbled. Webster gave a tittering laugh and Zabronski sneered, “Learned to walk lately?” Dane turned and snapped, “Stow the chatter.” Andy hung his head in mortification, his cheeks flushed. For years, his hands and feet had seemed too big for him, and he was forever tripping over something. His father, big and bluff, had ridiculed him for his clumsiness, which had only made it worse. When he had gotten his draft notice his father had only snorted, “Maybe they can make a man out of you.”

  Young and scared, he had made his way to boot camp, which was a nightmare for him. The harder he tried, the more inept he had become, and the more the instructors had yelled at him. He was also a natural target for the bullies, and he had cried more than once at night, using his pillow to muffle his sobs.

  Then he had been shipped out and sent overseas and, of course, he was seasick, which made him the butt of more ridicule. When he had arrived at Tunisia, the squad he had been assigned to had not included any of the bullies he had trained with, but he had been scared stiff of the big sergeant with the loud voice who reminded him of his father. It was the corporal who, one day, had taken him aside and quietly and gently talked to him, telling him that he was part of a team and that they were all relying on him, and that he could rely on everyone in the squad.

  After that, Corporal Shaw had been quick to offer praise, using his soft voice whenever correction was needed, never yelling at mistakes he had made. For once in his life he was getting encouragement, and life started to improve; he became less clumsy as he became less self-conscious and slightly surer of himself. He believed he owed it all to the corporal, and felt hero worship for the kind man with the ready, but somewhat shy, smile.

  He still had his clumsy moments though, he reflected as he reached up and touched the dent in his helmet. This afternoon, as he had followed Corporal Shaw as they ran f
rom the battle, he had tripped. As he fell a bullet had clipped his helmet; if he hadn’t tripped he would have been hit and maybe killed. He shivered at the thought and hurried to take his place in line. He did not want to let Corporal Shaw down.

  It was past midnight when they reached the western edge of Faid Pass. They watched for a few minutes, but saw no traffic. They shrugged into the German coats (and were glad of the warmth), put on the German helmets, and then started walking into the pass, grateful for the dim moonlight.

  The pass was about five miles long. For a while it went well, the traffic was very light and they had plenty of time to hide among the rocks when a vehicle went past. But then about three-fourths of the way through, they heard a vehicle coming up behind them. The pass was very narrow here, and there was no place to hide. Dane hissed, “Keep your heads down and keep walking!” They walked in single file as the headlights of a staff car illuminated them and then they heard it slow down. Dane gripped his submachine gun under his coat, prepared to swing it out and open fire if they were questioned, but once it had passed them it sped up again. They all stopped and looked at each other and heaved big sighs of relief. They resumed their march and reached the eastern end of the pass without further incident.

  They could see the buildings of a town ahead of them, which Dane assumed was Faid. Captain Matthews stopped, “Let’s ditch the German helmets here.” They found a likely crevasse and poked them into it, keeping the coats for warmth and to use as blankets at night, and then, circling a building with tents around it that looked like it was being used as a first aid station, they avoided the town and came to the other side. They could see the road to Sfax, and Drew stopped. “The road makes a shallow curve before it heads southeast towards Sfax,” he remembered from his long lost map, “if we cut across country it should be safer and shorter.” He led the way, and unconsciously following Angelique’s path, they traversed a short distance before stopping to make camp. They ate a meal and slept for a few hours, while Dane kept a guard posted.

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