The Rat Patrol 4 - Two-Faced Enemy by David King Read Free Book Online Page A

jeep and ran to Hitch.
    "Look, Hitch!" he shouted, hot and angry. "I thought we had this settled. Ray offered to take us up here herself. If she'd been with us, they'd still have opened fire. She doesn't have anything to do with them, hasn't been over this trail for years and didn't know it was being used. We found out something valuable we might never have discovered. The Arabs have been using this route, that's apparent, probably smuggling stolen goods out by night. She told me about an oasis ten miles south. My guess is that the Arabs use that oasis as a hiding place for whatever the stuff is until they can get it to a market. Whatever it is, we're going in and take it or destroy it before the Arabs can sell it to Jerry. That's part of our job out here, to destroy the enemy and his supplies. So whether you think we've been tricked or not, that Arab girl, as you call her, put us on the right track. Now how about going along with things and let's see what we find at the oasis."
    Hitch studied Troy for a moment with thoughtful eyes and then suddenly he smiled. "I may not be convinced, but I'll knock it off," he said.
    "We'll make a wide swing around to that oasis," Troy told them all, climbing back into the first jeep. "We'll come in from the west and keep hidden until we see what's going on."
    They'd left the trail, making a wide circuit, picking their way cautiously through the rocks, and when they reached the sand, they kept to depressions and wadis. Stopping frequently to let the motors cool and replenish the water in the radiators, it had been sixteen-hundred hours when they'd finally pulled into the pocket about a mile west of the oasis and dragged the camouflage nets over the jeeps. It was now eighteen-hundred and soon the soft dusk would fall gently on the desert. Troy slid down the slope and crawled between the jeeps under the netting. Tully was lying on his back under his jeep and snoring. Moffitt and Hitch sat in the sand, leaning listlessly against their vehicle. They watched dully, then blinked and shook themselves awake as Troy haif dragged Tully from his jeep by the leg.
    "We'll leave the jeeps here," he told them when Tully crawled out rubbing his eyes. "But we'll pull off the nets so we can take off fast if we have to. Jack," he said, turning to Moffitt, "you and Hitch take care of the halftrack that's patrolling the dump. One of you get the crew and the other blow the treads. Tully and I will hit the drums. We'll load ourselves with grenades and just carry sidearms. Okay, let's move."
    When the nets were folded, the sun had set and the shadow of night had crept over the desert. The moon had not risen, and although there was a transluscency to the dusk, it was darker now than it would be later. Troy led the way, snaking through the still hot sand where there was no cover, rising to a crouch and darting forward whenever rocks or a valley in the desert offered protection. At the end of an hour, they had advanced three quarters of the way. Troy propped himself on his elbows and examined the oasis. A truck, its headlights blurred and yellowish glares, was standing at the edge of the palms and Arabs stripped to their baggy cotton drawers were struggling with the heavy, awkward drums. The slapping treads of the halftrack clanked and the armored vehicle crawled slow around the far edge of the dump.
    "Let's take them before that truck gets away with its load," Troy whispered to Moffitt.
    Moffitt nodded and Hitch and he darted off at an angle, bending low as they ran to intercept the halftrack on its next circuit. Troy and Tully plunged straight ahead about a hundred yards toward the stockpiled drums and the truck and dived into the sand to look and listen. Troy turned his head. At first he could see neither Moffitt nor Hitch, but as he watched, two shadowy forms lifted from the desert and sprinted ahead. Troy and Tully dug in their toes and ran another hundred yards. Off to Troy's right, Moffitt and Hitch were running