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Desert Rats

The Algerian desert was peaceful in the same way that a corpse is peaceful. Through the air was cool, sun still heated the hardpan enough to make the horizon shimmer like reflecting water. In the great emptiness of sand and rock, a thin trail of dust marked the path of a hurtling vehicle, a strange looking vehicle. The front half was a normal heavy truck but the back was a cobbled together metal box with a 50 caliber machine gun turret on top. Where the rear wheels should have been there were tracks like those of a tank. It made a terrible clatter as it bounced along over uneven terrain. Two small triangular flags whipped atop a ten-foot radio antenna. This was an M3 scout vehicle of the 11th Hussars, the British Army’s “Desert Rats.”
    A deeply tanned lookout stood tall in the machine gun turret. He wore a tan beret, matching scarf and no shirt as he scanned with a heavy set of binoculars. It was tough duty in the violently pitching armored car. The lookout suddenly stopped and focused straight ahead. Then he crouched down inside and whistled to for attention. The driver cranked his steering wheel to head in the direction the lookout pointed and four other men took positions, two manning smaller machine guns, and two popping up through trap doors to aim their rifles.
    In the distance, a figure began to take shape. The lookout was cautious. The distant desert was a wavering mirror of mirage and heat distortion. The eye played many tricks. This image, however, persisted. It was real, a man, walking. They were many miles from any road, town or even trail but there he was, walking in the middle of the desert. The scout vehicle bore down on him and the British gunners cocked their weapons in readiness but h continued walking in a straight line seeming to pay his attackers no heed. The lookout shouted down, “Easy on men, this bugger’s carrying a body. He doesn’t look a threat to me.”
    Sure enough, the large man carried a limp form with dangling arms and legs. Beneath a heavy layer of dust, his face was vacant, a man in shock. The body he carried was a woman in some sort of uniform but she was too dirty to see of what army.
    The scout’s driver slid to a stop in front of the pair and let his engine go to a throbbing idle. The lookout cupped his hands and shouted. “You there, put the woman down. Get on your knees, hands behind your head. ”
    Dieter Goetz did as he was told. Two British soldiers immediately jumped from the vehicle and ran to aim guns at his head. “Who are you and what in hell are you doing alone out here? Are you a bleeding madman?” they demanded.
            Dieter forced a parched smile. “Hey guys. I’ll be happy to tell you but first, do you think you can spare a small drink for a couple of Yanks?” The riflemen relaxed slightly and began frisking Dieter. They removed a German Lugar pistol with an empty clip, an eight-inch switchblade knife and a small boot stiletto. A large bloodstain ran under his arm.
    “You’re pretty well armed for someone just out for a hike.”
    Dieter shrugged. “There’s a war on, buddy. It pays to be careful. You know what I’m saying? This here young lady is an American soldier. Some creep German was molesting her. I took me the liberty of borrowing his pistol and, sort of, ‘demilitarized’ his ass. Then I took her and ran off.”
    “Well Yank, that’s quite commendable but, again, who are you and why are you here?”
    “Peter Guest of the World Children’s Relief Organization; I was coordinating food shipments for displaced Libyan and Algerian children refugees when the Huns arrived.”
    “All right, let’s see some identification.”
    Dieter was exhausted and barely hanging on to consciousness. “No can do. I got nothing. I’m damned lucky to still have my shoes. They took my wallet, my watch and even pictures of my dear sainted mother. If I didn’t speak some German I’d be dead already. I told them I was Austrian and they let me live; big mistake for them. Like I was saying, they lined me up with some other European and American workers when they found this here girl. Her guard started to mess with her so I stepped up and ended his day-big time. I took her by the hand and we ran but she got shot already. I’ve been walking two and a half days just headed east and hoping to run into some good guys.”
    The Brits put down their guns. “Well, help has arrived, my man. We’ll get you water and Corpsman Walthers will attend to the woman. Do you know what she was doing alone so far from the American forces?”
    Dieter hesitated for a long time and sipped water gratefully. He coughed and finally spoke. “She’s intelligence: I don’t know exactly what she was doing but she told me that if anything ever happened to her I was to try and contact a US Army Captain- James Miller of the Counter Intelligence office at Eastern Task Force in Algiers. Do youse guys think you can do that for her?” Dieter looked up from his kneeling position and his world went quietly gray. He crumpled onto the sand in a great heap of dust-covered flesh.
    Jimmie Miller was back at Lt. Col. Adkins office pestering everyone again. The colonel had given up trying to control his impulsive young agent.
    “Miller, there’s no word. The Army sent a team to Benoise but they found nothing.”
     “Sir, the town was Benoit.”
    “Yes, well, whatever it was they didn’t find her. I’m sorry, but we must remember, she is just one person in a war where thousands are dying. We have to keep perspective. No more resources will be expended searching for her. Now, as for you, I’ve forwarded your name for a special assignment.” I think you will be an asset.”
    Jimmie ignored the comment. “Sir, Lt. Shultz is an invaluable asset. There is no telling what information she may have obtained from her captors…”
    “Captain Miller, she’s dead. Deal with it and move on. I’m transferring you out of theater. You’re going to German Language School.” Jimmie fumed but held his tongue. His voice was that of a sullen teenager as he asked, “Why Language School?”
    Adkins spun his chair around to face away from the accusing eyes of his pouting agent. “It will be in preparation for the invasion of France and the march to Germany. This will be the defining event of the war.” His voice trailed off. “For what it’s worth, the information you obtained from the German staff and the list of compromised operatives with the Vichy French Government have saved hundreds of lives and allowed us to purge our staffs of enemy agents.”
    There seemed to be nothing more to say. Jimmie stood and rubbed his hands together. He turned to leave but hesitated. “So where is this German Language School?”
    “San Francisco; it’s on the Presidio. Beautiful place; you’ll have to work hard. I don’t know where you go next. You’ll be told. The lieutenant is typing your orders. You fly to England in two days.”
    Jimmie nodded silently and sighed. Normally, he would have been thrilled to learn of this plum of an assignment. It just didn’t seem so important anymore. As he walked out, the corporal clerk stood. “Captain Miller, I have a message for you. It’s a personal message from British Seventh Army Headquarters.”
    Adkins bounded out of his office. “A captain on my staff has a personal message from an Allied headquarters?”
    The corporal stood rigid and read, “Yes Sir. It reads ‘For Captain James Miller, Counterintelligence: Mr. Peter Guest advises that Shultz is alive but badly wounded; being transported to the Australian field hospital near Biskra. Mr. Guest requests he meet you there first opportunity to discuss upcoming significant events in theater. Regards, Nigel Cross, Major, Her Majesty’s Seventh Army’.”
   Jimmie tried to stand tall but he winced fighting back a tear. He didn’t dare count on his voice. He didn’t need to. Adkins spoke for him. “We’ll delay your flight for a week. And, while I suspect I’ll regret this question, who is Peter Guest?”
   Jimmie smiled weakly and cleared his throat. “I believe Sir, that his name is actually Dieter Goetz and he is probably the man who saved her life. He’s a German Army interrogator and this message means he’s coming over to our side. I’ll explain everything if you can get him flown here. May I go see Lt. Shultz?”
   Adkins held his palm over his desk as though about to slam it down hard. “Captain Miller, I am a careful man. I value order, discipline, and hard work. I double-check everything that goes through this office. I have 49 highly motivated, full time agents working night and day to analyze all the material you keep bringing us. Now, you tell me that you have turned a German double agent and you want me to bring him here?”
   The colonel’s hand, still suspended over his desk, was shaking and his face strained. “This is not how I do business. I am an analyst. I find truth in details. “He plopped back in his chair defeated and deflated. His voice was flat. “Get a vehicle and driver from the motor pool. Go see the girl and bring back your agent.”