strike the CP next and their target will be the remainder of the fuel. We have them, Hermann. Tonight the Rat Patrol, tomorrow the port of Sidi Beda."
Colonel Dan Wilson fixed Sergeant Peilowski with an icy stare and fought back his surging anger. Peilowski stood under the fan in the middle of the room, and the air through the opened window was comfortably cool, but the perspiration was popping on Peilowski's forehead. His lips worked soundlessly and his eyes were downcast.
"What do you mean, Sergeant?" Wilson asked tonelessly. "They haven't found the Rat Patrol?"
"That's exactly the way it is, sir," Peilowski said faintly.
"What's exactly the way it is?" Wilson said loudly. "Speak up. Did they search the wine shop as I ordered?"
"Sir," Peilowski said, still in a weak voice. "The MPs went to the Fat Frenchman's. The door was barred. He wouldn't let them in. They pounded at the door with their sticks and threatened to break into the place. At last he opened the door. They searched the place thoroughly—the shop, his room, the apartment above where there was a girl, the courtyard at the rear and even the roof. No one was in the entire place but the Fat Frenchman and this girl."
"What about the rest of the port?" Wilson asked a little uneasily. The orders were quite explicit about the natives, both their persons and their property.
"It has been thoroughly searched," Peilowski said.
"Damnit," Wilson said furiously. "I want the Rat Patrol brought in. We aren't molesting the natives and their property. We're trying to protect them. There's a war. Maybe we can't break into their houses but we can patrol their alleys. Get the MPs into the native quarter."
"The Arabs and the Frenchies are restless, sir," Peilowski said. "We haven't enough patrols now to keep them penned in like you said. The patrols push them back at one alley and they pour out of another. They're roaming the bazaar and waterfront and there are more of them than we can handle. If we try to push them around too much, we'll have an uprising in town on our hands."
"Keep them off the piers, keep them away from military property," Wilson raged. "What's wrong with them? Why should they be restless?"
"There were about a dozen Arabs massacred up on the bluff this afternoon," Peilowski said. "Some Arab came in with the story, said he'd escaped, that they were a peaceful party coming in to town to trade, using the old trail they always used, when these men in two jeeps opened fire and mowed them down. They're restless, all right. Won't take much to set them off."
"A dozen Arabs massacred?" Wilson shouted, pushing his chair back and coming around to Peilowski. "So the Rat Patrol did get out and the first Arabs they run into, they cut loose. I've told Troy we have to respect our agreements with these people in return for their cooperation. I've told him the Arabs have to be treated with kid gloves. So when those lunatics finished drinking beer all afternoon, half drunk, they ran into a band of friendly Arabs and cut them down. I can understand why they risked breaking through Latsus Pass and ran back to town. They probably had a dozen tribes chasing them. Of course the Rat Patrol is hiding. There's not one of them that would dare face either the Arabs or me. Have the patrols keep an eye out for them, but the first thing now is to keep the natives in town under control. Get me two armored cars with full crews. I'm going into the bazaar myself and talk with the natives."
"That's dangerous," Peilowski said.
"When isn't war dangerous!" Wilson blazed. "Have those cars in front of HQ in five minutes."
Peilowski started to leave.
"Sergeant," Wilson called. "Did you draw up the courts-martial?"
"They're ready, sir," Peilowski said.
"Good," Wilson said. "Battle or no battle, victory or defeat. I'm going to have the satisfaction of seeing each of those men imprisoned the moment he is picked up."
A blast shattered the quiet of the night and Wilson thought he
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