Free The Rat Patrol 3 - The Trojan Tank Affair by David King Page A

the flap open. It relieved his feeling or imprisonment to have a small shaft of mote-laden sunlight slanting onto the bed of the truck.
    Although the convoy was well within Allied controlled territory, the sabotage at Benghazi and the two attempted ambushes had shown that Jerry was able to slip through the lines and Troy was happy to see the air cover. The P-40s would sweep the desert along the route to Bir-el-Alam and their machine guns would spit at anything that looked suspicious. Once the Rat Patrol entered enemy territory beyond the defensive perimeter, they'd have to contend with the same type of air surveillance by Messer-schmitts and Focke-Wulfs.
    Troy turned back to the interior of the van. Someone had turned out the lantern after he had fallen asleep although he did not remember lying down. After the Rat Patrol had circled the convoy and the four men wearing the patrol's unique headpieces had set out for Benghazi, Tully had dug out a pack of playing cards from one of the cartons. Troy remembered drawing three tens on the first deal, making an ante of five matchsticks and that was all. He must have dozed at the table and someone must have led him back to his rubber mattress.
    The others were sleeping too. Moffitt, near the tailgate, was on his side, breathing regularly and softly. Troy walked quietly to the tables at the middle of the van and heard snores grumbling in Tully's throat. Troy ran to him, quickly turning Tully from his back to his side and smiling suddenly at his reflexive action. Not that it was amusing. Sneezing or snoring could reveal the Rat Patrol to the enemy.
    It was good they all were sleeping, he thought. Not only were they exhausted after the fast-moving events during the hours since midnight, but they needed to get in the habit of sleeping during the days. They'd be restricted to the nights in their operations against Jerry. Troy frowned and returned to the back of the van, sitting by the unbuttoned bottom of the canvas flap. He hoped the return of the two jeeps to Benghazi would lessen Jerry's interest in the convoy. Although there had been an oversight in the matter of the jeep escort, elaborate precautions had been taken to cloak the Rat Patrol's mission. This caper was critical. They had to bring it off and it was starting out badly.
    He thought the convoy must be nearing the El Abd track that sliced inland across the desert sands and rock ridges from near El Agheila to Gazella on the northeast coast of the Cyrenaica peninsula. He took his eyes from the rolling sameness of the desert they had entered after leaving the coastal hills and looked at his watch. It was nearing fourteen-hundred hours. The heavily loaded convoy was traveling slowly; between fifteen and twenty miles an hour, he estimated. With allowances for the stops they must have made en route for water and to cool the motors, and the delay of something like an hour beyond Antelat where Jerry had set a trap, they could not have traveled much more than a hundred miles from Benghazi. Another hundred miles lay between them and Bir-el-Alam, then fifty miles to the perimeter and fifty miles through enemy territory to the position that had been prepared for them. They would not be able to travel beyond the perimeter in daylight. If there were any more delays, they'd have to spend the whole next day inside the stifling van.
    Troy heard the engines of the airplanes and the P-40s returned, one on either side of the track, flying low again, this time back tracking toward Benghazi. Sweat was steaming down his cheeks and his trousers were wet where his arms had rested on them. For a moment as he sat panting under the canvas topped van, he envied the Air Force but then he shook his head and smiled. The flyboys might have all the sky to fly in but still they did not enjoy the Rat Patrol's independence.
    Moffitt had stirred this time at the sound of the aircraft and now he sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. He smiled slowly.
    "Our own chaps,