mines and comparing them with the penetration that had been made by the other nine vehicles. He was puzzled and had come to the conclusion that some of his crews had been careless, although he was not prepared to say just how.
Throwing his eleven reserve tanks into the line to supplement the remaining halftracks as minesweepers, he gave the order to advance. The mighty armored force churned into the battlefield. The backup line of tanks had been ordered to hold fire until within effective range. Once more the deafening blast of seventy-five millimeter shells slamming the earth and the clapping explosions of detonated mines rang in Dietrich's ears, but this morning he did not stand quite so straight and his eyes were clouded. He had come to the conclusion that the American colonel, Wilson, had sown the minefield in a casual, haphazard fashion. It offended Dietrich's military sense of precision and it confused his approach to the minesweeping problem.
It was both physically and logistically impossible to clear every square yard of the field. Dietrich had considered this solution and had come up with a figure of some seventy-five thousand shells, which was of course completely out of the question. He was hopeful that his force could advance to effective firing range without sustaining serious losses and he also was hoping, though not being hopeful, that some pattern still might be read into the design.
The field before Dietrich was a pounding haze of blinding, golden dust when the sun burst full upon it and one of Dietrich's tank commanders reported the first loss. A mine had blown the treads from the right side of a tank. There were no casualties.
It was at this moment that Herr Oberst Funke chose to call. The old man was babbling so brokenly and incoherently that Dietrich decided he was drunk and was about to sign off in disgust when he caught one word that curdled his blood. It was El Alghur.
"Herr Oberst, Herr Oberst," he said crisply, though he was shaking inside. "Please speak more slowly and clearly. There is a battle underway and it is very difficult to hear and understand. What did you say of El Alghur? Have the trucks returned?"
"No, Hans. Oh! It is terrible." The colonel was sobbing. "It is unbearably inconceivable, this fresh disaster at El Alghur."
"Come, pull yourself together, Oberst! What happened at El Alghur?" Dietrich asked with sure knowledge of what he would be told.
"It was just as they arrived. The convoy, Hans." The colonel was speaking haltingly. "I sent two halftracks to protect it. The convoy arrived safely. They were within sight of the oasis, perhaps no more than a mile away. The two of the guards who remained, they were running to meet the convoy in the desert. They warned of what was to happen, and as they spoke it happened. The entire dump simply exploded. Everything gone, Hans. What shall we do?"
"What were the guards doing in the desert?" Dietrich asked needlessly and purposefully from the unthinking part of his brain. His mind was racing ahead furiously, questing for petrol and oil.
"They had been taken unaware by this Gottverdamtig Rat Patrol." In his anger now Oberst Funke was more intelligible. "Do you suppose, Hans, the guards were in this treachery with the Rat Patrol? Else why were they permitted to run out to warn the convoy?"
"They were allowed to leave and warn the others simply because there was no need to kill them," Dietrich stated incontrovertibly. His mind was functioning as a single-purposed unit again. "Where is the convoy?"
"At El Alghur, or what is left of El Alghur," the colonel said piteously. "They radioed the information and asked for instructions. What shall we do, Hans? I think I should order a withdrawal at once while we still have fuel enough to return."
"We do not have fuel enough to return, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said disdainfully. "That is why we must take the port. There is no choice for us now but victory. You must signal the convoy at once. At El
Throwing his eleven reserve tanks into the line to supplement the remaining halftracks as minesweepers, he gave the order to advance. The mighty armored force churned into the battlefield. The backup line of tanks had been ordered to hold fire until within effective range. Once more the deafening blast of seventy-five millimeter shells slamming the earth and the clapping explosions of detonated mines rang in Dietrich's ears, but this morning he did not stand quite so straight and his eyes were clouded. He had come to the conclusion that the American colonel, Wilson, had sown the minefield in a casual, haphazard fashion. It offended Dietrich's military sense of precision and it confused his approach to the minesweeping problem.
It was both physically and logistically impossible to clear every square yard of the field. Dietrich had considered this solution and had come up with a figure of some seventy-five thousand shells, which was of course completely out of the question. He was hopeful that his force could advance to effective firing range without sustaining serious losses and he also was hoping, though not being hopeful, that some pattern still might be read into the design.
The field before Dietrich was a pounding haze of blinding, golden dust when the sun burst full upon it and one of Dietrich's tank commanders reported the first loss. A mine had blown the treads from the right side of a tank. There were no casualties.
It was at this moment that Herr Oberst Funke chose to call. The old man was babbling so brokenly and incoherently that Dietrich decided he was drunk and was about to sign off in disgust when he caught one word that curdled his blood. It was El Alghur.
"Herr Oberst, Herr Oberst," he said crisply, though he was shaking inside. "Please speak more slowly and clearly. There is a battle underway and it is very difficult to hear and understand. What did you say of El Alghur? Have the trucks returned?"
"No, Hans. Oh! It is terrible." The colonel was sobbing. "It is unbearably inconceivable, this fresh disaster at El Alghur."
"Come, pull yourself together, Oberst! What happened at El Alghur?" Dietrich asked with sure knowledge of what he would be told.
"It was just as they arrived. The convoy, Hans." The colonel was speaking haltingly. "I sent two halftracks to protect it. The convoy arrived safely. They were within sight of the oasis, perhaps no more than a mile away. The two of the guards who remained, they were running to meet the convoy in the desert. They warned of what was to happen, and as they spoke it happened. The entire dump simply exploded. Everything gone, Hans. What shall we do?"
"What were the guards doing in the desert?" Dietrich asked needlessly and purposefully from the unthinking part of his brain. His mind was racing ahead furiously, questing for petrol and oil.
"They had been taken unaware by this Gottverdamtig Rat Patrol." In his anger now Oberst Funke was more intelligible. "Do you suppose, Hans, the guards were in this treachery with the Rat Patrol? Else why were they permitted to run out to warn the convoy?"
"They were allowed to leave and warn the others simply because there was no need to kill them," Dietrich stated incontrovertibly. His mind was functioning as a single-purposed unit again. "Where is the convoy?"
"At El Alghur, or what is left of El Alghur," the colonel said piteously. "They radioed the information and asked for instructions. What shall we do, Hans? I think I should order a withdrawal at once while we still have fuel enough to return."
"We do not have fuel enough to return, Herr Oberst," Dietrich said disdainfully. "That is why we must take the port. There is no choice for us now but victory. You must signal the convoy at once. At El
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