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The labyrinth path wound deeper and deeper into the mountain. Outside of the burning twist of grass in Private Tully Pettigrew’s hands, they had no light. He didn’t want to think of what would happen when their make-shift torch went out.
“What is this place, Sarge?” he asked aloud.
“Looks Roman,” replied Sergeant Jack Moffitt who was hard on his heels. The darkness pressed closely behind him. “I’m more of an anthropologist than an archeologist, Tully, but this definitely looks like it dates back to the early Christian era… Ah!”
“What?” Tully stopped, turning to face him.
Moffitt was holding his shoulder, his face filled with agony that he couldn’t hide. The tall officer had obviously run into one of the uneven walls of the cramped tunnel. The worst of it was that it was the arm that he had dislocated when he was thrown out of the wrecked jeep after their abortive attack on a column that proved to have bigger teeth than the Rat Patrol.
“I’m fine, Tully,” Moffitt lied through clenched teeth. “Just need a second to rest.”
“This tunnel’s gotta lead to somewhere. I grabbed the bag with the medical supplies and some food. Let’s hope we can find some water.”
“I hope we can find our way out of here,” Moffitt muttered. “You said Troy and Hitch saw us head this way?”
“Yeah, they took off to distract the Krauts when I was getting you out of that dune. Yelled they’d come back when the coast was clear,” Tully said. “Didn’t know that bastard, Preget, was going to chase us in here instead of them!”
“’Here’ didn’t exist a week ago. The bombing raid must have taken off part of this mountain, and uncovered this buried temple. The air's reasonably fresh so there has to be a way out!”
“Hope it’s not the way we came in, Sarge,” Tully said pessimistically, leading the way down the narrow passage. He asked mostly to distract his commander, “Why’d they build it?”
Moffitt sighed. Obviously, he was still in pain from the clipped tone of his reply. “Who knows? This looks like stone work from the latter years of the Roman Empire but some of it is definitely later. It isn’t finished off the way it was before the birth of Christ. It could be part of a city or some kind of a shrine. What the--Tully!”
They stepped into an room whose edges were lost in darkness. Chunks of rock littered the mosaic floor underneath their feet, but the ceiling was invisible in the darkness. After the tightness of the corridor, it was like coming into an amphitheater or one of those stadiums for the Olympic Games.
Not that Tully had ever seen a real Olympic stadium. The newspapers in Kentucky were several weeks out of date by the time they reached his teachers, but he had seen the pictures of the Berlin Olympics. It was the first time he saw the word ‘Hitler’ and began to understand why there might be a war. ‘Course I never thought I’d be in it.
“What the hell is this all about, Sarge?” Tully gasped as the light flickered over the various lumps and bundles that crowded the room. In the front was a statue of a handsome muscular nude of a young man, a name carved in the stone at his feet. His eyes stared mercilessly at the two soldiers while his lips had a slight smirk. For some reason, the statue was intact while many of the others were in pieces.
Moffitt’s curiosity had overcome his pain. He stepped around Tully. “Lift your torch. Give me some more light.”
There wasn’t just one statue but many, jammed into the square room. The walls were painted but the crowd of statues made it unclear what was the art was. The ceiling vault was probably painted but the colors were lost in darkness. The room was unexpectedly cool with fresh air which took Tully by surprise after the tight stale air of the tunnel.
The damaged statues ranged from smooth-skinned women to impressive men draped in stone togas, most had broken noses, armless torsos or one-legged bodies. A headless, curving nude woman at the end, taller than Tully or Moffitt, stood on a stained marble plinth. Beside her was a bearded man with a trident, dolphins at his feet, except that his arm and the trident were lying on the ground in front of a carved altar. Tully turned to ask Moffitt about that and saw the other man was shaking his head in puzzlement.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Moffitt murmured almost under his breath.
Tully looked back at the statues. “You know more about it than I do, Sarge. Who are these people?”
“Hmm. Well, that’s the problem.” Moffitt started to wave, then flinched. He cradled his right arm against his side. “I’d guess that the woman is Venus, the man with the pitchfork is Neptune, but the young man in front – I don’t know. I’d have to get closer to read the inscription. That altar with the soldier might be – Did you hear something?“
They both froze. There was no sound in the room beside their own breathing, then Tully shifted, and the cans in the bag clinked. Both jumped. Moffitt let out a hiss of pain. Tully saw wetness on his face but Moffitt’s voice was quite calm. He wasn’t going to give in to what he felt if he could help it. Tully understood.
“These statues are all separate gods and goddesses but they aren’t even in the same religion!” Moffitt looked around at what he could see of the room. “This must have been a temple of some kind.”
“For some kind of a god?” Tully hazarded. He walked forward till he was near the wall. “What is this – oh, wow, look at that!”
“Priapias, most likely,” Moffitt commented looking at the well-endowed sculpture. He turned back to the statues. “He’s one of those minor deities you don’t read about in Bullfinch.”
“Must have been popular with the ladies.”
“Or painful. Looks like someone was storing these statues, Tully.”
“In an old temple? Don’t know how to pack ‘em then. Should get some of the tobacco boys from back home, they can stack a warehouse. Most of these statues are a mess!” Tully turned back to the array of marble carvings and shook his head in disgust.
Behind the woman and the young man were more busts and sculptures, some on their sides, some on their backs, most of them shattered into various chunks. He could see the marks of axes on some of the marble. Tully was no art lover or historian, but he had to flinch at the gashes.
“Well, the Roman gods did fall out of fashion around the 4th century AD,” Moffitt said dryly. “Look at the marks on the walls.”
Tully looked up. “Paint? What’d they say?”
“The ancient world’s equivalent of ‘Kilroy was here’ in bad Latin. Obviously someone didn’t quite trust the new religion so they put their old deities into storage, just in case,” Moffitt surmised.
“Always better to keep your options open,” Tully commented sagely. He turned around to see Moffitt sink down beside the statue of the young man. “How are you doing, Sarge?”
“Fine. No, my shoulder hurts like the devil, Tully, and I feel sick as a dog.” Moffitt admitted, leaning back against the plinth and shutting his eyes. Even in the flickering light he looked tired and drawn, and his jaw was clenched when he wasn’t talking.
“You need a sling.”
“Take my scarf and tie it,” Moffitt ordered.
Tully obeyed, tying the black scarf into a sling and putting it around Moffitt’s neck. He gave a sigh of relief as he slid his arm in and relaxed. “Take a rest, Sarge. I’ll find something else to burn. Just stay here.”
Moffitt shot him a weak smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Tully took the torch and walked back among the smashed statues and mosaics. There was debris scattered on the ground but none of it was burnable.
And something in the darkness in front of him was ticking. He was sure of it. He didn’t want to mention it to Moffitt before he was sure, but something out there was more modern than 500 A.D. and it was ticking.
***
Sergeant Sam Troy, leader of the Rat Patrol, was absolutely furious. The desert breeze that blew against the wide brim of his Aussie hat threatened to blow it off as he peered around the rocks where he was hidden. A few feet away, his driver, Private Mark Hitchcock, knelt in the shadow of another rock, his machine gun held ready.
They watched the small crowd of German soldiers who clustered around the wrecked Jeep, making disrespectful comments from the tone of their voices, and laughing. The leader strolled into plain sight, his long greatcoat unfaded by the desert sun, and the shiny leather peak of his cap reflecting the setting sun. Obviously a new arrival for the Afrika Korps. I wonder if it’s that Preget that Dietrich mentioned.
The German waved to the opening in the wall, and three soldiers, each holding lamps, and machine guns, stepped over to it. He stopped them with one order, took a look around at seemingly deserted canyon, then led the way into the cave. The last two saluted smartly, and took up positions at the car to wait.
Troy shook his head at Hitchcock who was crouched ready to shoot the men. Too soon. They would take out the soldiers after the main group left. Prisoners or dead—Troy wasn’t that picky. What he wanted to know was what had happened to Moffitt and Tully. The cave was the only place where they could be.
Hitchcock glanced at Troy who lifted his hand to indicate that Hitchcock could take out the two men, then stopped.
Another car was coming up the barely-perceptible path from the bombed airbase. It sounded like a Kubelwagen.
Troy cursed. The bombers had missed most of the aerodrome last night when a storm moved in unexpectedly, and the Germans had worked all day to rebuild it. The Rat Patrol’s raid hadn’t done any damage except to themselves, and now the Germans here had reinforcements. Damn!
He recognized the familiar stance, uniform and goggles on the officer in the front seat. Captain Hans Dietrich, one of their most devoted enemies, jumped out of the front of the Kubelwagon, and strolled up to the staff car where the two soldiers had hastily jumped to attention.
Troy wished that he knew German because Dietrich was obviously asking where the officer had gone. He did hear a familiar name though.
Preget. So it is the man that Dietrich said is obsessed by us. The insane bastard whose trying to get transferred back to Berlin on the back of all his troops and our heads? Pretty bad when the Krauts warn their enemies about their own.
He glanced at Hitchcock and waved towards the Kubelwagon. The private nodded and slid to one side so that he could get a clear view.
Unexpectedly, Dietrich turned and lifted his hands to cup around his mouth. “Sergeant Troy! Are you there?” His words echoed off the walls of the canyon.
Troy froze. What are you up to, Dietrich?
“Sergeant, I need to speak to you if you are there! Answer me!”
“One move, Captain, and you’re dead,” Troy called. He saw Hitchcock stare at him appalled, and realized what he’d done.
Dietrich nodded knowingly, and put his hands on his hips, showing that he wasn’t going to pull out his pistol. “I thought you’d be here, Sergeant. Hauptmann Preget has gone in after your men. His soldiers say they saw them go down there. I will go after them.”
“Why, Captain?” Troy called. “Don’t you trust your man to bring them back alive?”
Dietrich’s lips thinned. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here, Sergeant! If they’re my prisoners, they’ll be treated as prisoners of war under the Geneva Convention, and sent to one of our camps.”
Troy was intrigued. What was Dietrich trying to tell him? Obviously none of the other soldiers spoke English or Dietrich wouldn’t have been so blunt. “So, your man Preget doesn’t go along with that?”
“Sergeant, you know there is a bounty on your heads, and you know that it would be a tremendous asset to any officer’s career to capture the four of you!” Dietrich said sharply. “Dead or alive!”
“Sarge!” Hitchcock yelled and began to shoot. One of the soldiers from the Kubelwagen had slid around them to attack them from the back. The machine gun took him out in one blast.
“Talk’s over, Dietrich!” Troy replied, aiming for the staff car. He hesitated for a second. Capturing Dietrich alive would be an honor for his side.
In that second of hesitation, Dietrich flung himself around the staff car and crouched down, out of the way of Hitchcock’s bullets. “Sergeant Troy, don’t be a fool! Preget doesn’t care if you are captured alive or dead!”
“I don’t think sending you in to help Preget would help my men, Captain! ‘Think we’ll just wait here for them to come out!” Troy aimed for just above the staff car and began firing. He heard a series of curses in German, then some orders.
“I can hit the engine, Sarge. Blow them to kingdom come,” Hitchcock suggested, then fired again to keep the soldiers undercover.
Troy hesitated. “No. Not yet. Let’s see what happens.”
***
Tully had reached the far end of the room and found nothing to burn. The torch in his hand was beginning to flicker badly as it reached the end of the dried grass.
The roof had fallen in leaving only a thin wedge where a passageway had once led to other rooms. It looked like the mountain above them had fallen in on the temple. Shards of different color rocks and carved blocks made it clear that other buildings had probably been built on top of this one. This was just a layer in the history of the mountain.
Tully had read about cities built on top of cities but he’d never seen it in all his time in the Middle East. What had his old teacher back in Kentucky said about place they’d found? The city of Troy, like Sargent Troy. He looked around at the statues. All of them out of that book on myths he’d had to read years ago. Never thought that crap would come in handy.
Pausing, he cocked his head and listened. The harsh, irregular ticking was louder back here.
With trepidation, Tully moved forward until he saw something that didn’t look like marble or dirt or parts of ancient statues. For one thing, it reflected the light of the flickering torch.
“Oh, God!” he yelped and stepped back. “What the hell are we gonna do now?”
Lying cradled in dirt and a web of broken bricks and marble, was the gleaming torpedo shape of a bomb. The markings identified it as English.
And it was ticking, beat by beat. Not in a regular pattern which was even more ominous. He heard it stop, then tick twice, then stop.
Ah think I’d rather be caught by the Krauts than go up in smoke from my own guys. I’d better get back. He began a slow retreat till he tripped over a fragment of statue, an arm, and landed on his rear end. The torch was jolted out of his hand and rolled up against a statue propped against the painted wall.
Tully looked up and goggled. It wasn’t like any of the others in the room. It breathed of an ancient past he knew nothing about.
Unlike most of the statues in the room, it wasn’t realistically carved with muscular torsos and serene faces. This huge woman had multiple breasts, arrayed like udders down her front, and a gold-flaked disc behind her crowned head. Her arms were stretched out to welcome worshipers.
Geeze! What the hell is that? He scrambled to his feet and moved closer. The woman stared at him benignly. He could see that she’d been damaged as well. Some of the breasts were shattered or broken off. Behind her in the niche were piled more small icons and broken dishes but nothing that would burn.
Tully stepped back again, being careful not to step on anything, and looked at her admiringly. God, Sarge has to see this!
He was recalled to danger by the flickering of the torch. It was burning where he had been holding it, and would be out in a minute or two. Damn! Gotta sacrifice it, I guess. He stripped off his shirt. Wrapping it in a tight wad around a long thin wedge of marble, he made another makeshift
torch. Reaching in his back pocket, he pulled out his lighter, and unscrewed the back. He dumped the fluid over the shirt and, holding it at a distance, he held it to the old flame.
A second or two, and the flames licked up the worn cloth. The light illuminated the goddess better than the old one. He stared up at the statue in amazement, then remembered the bomb. He’d better get the hell out of there.
Turning back the way he came, he saw a flash of light that didn’t come from his torch. He crouched behind the broken remnants of a shapely female, very different from the one in the niche, and threw up a prayer that Sarge had seen it too.
He had to have. Even Tully could hear the German now. That damn bastard had come after them after all. And with all that noise, he might set off the bomb. Hell!
***
Moffitt fumbled around in the darkness until he found the food bag, and pulled out a can. This took far longer than he’d expected because of his dislocated shoulder. Why’d he have to pull that right now? Probably happened when we came around that last corner and he didn’t have a good grip on the gun. He couldn’t see exactly which can he pulled out but hoped that it was meat and vegetables, not the ubiquitous Spam. His shoulder hurt so much that opening the can was a laborious task, made worse when he spilt half of the contents on his worn uniform.
However, it solved one question. It was beef. He licked his fingers, and carefully began to eat, hoping the protein would ease the shaking he was experiencing. He had no idea of where Tully was or what was going on, and in his imagination, he thought he heard a ticking clock.
At least, I wasn’t shot this time, he thought, chewing on the beef. Feels like my shoulder’s just out of kilter. Once we get rid of the Germans – Damn!
He heard the footsteps and the language before he saw the light of the torch cut into the room’s darkness. Taking the can with him, he scrambled back among the broken statues to where the carved altar was. Behind the bulky torso of the broken Neptune was a good hiding spot.
The lead soldier held the torch, and the German captain followed on his heels. Two more soldiers, with lights, followed behind. The light that reflected off the statues showed the men's expressions--afraid of where they were, but more scared of their leader.
The leader sneered as he looked around. “Sergeant Moffitt? Are you here? I am Captain Preget of the Afrika Korps! Are you hiding behind women, Sergeant? Come out!”
Moffitt held his tongue. He wondered where the devil Tully was now. Had the private discovered some kind of exit and gone to check it out? Probably too late to do Moffitt any good. He tried to move but dropped the can which was still clenched in his fingers. The clatter ricochet through the room.
One of the soldiers sent a beam of light over the Neptune where he was hiding but missed him.
“Herr Hauptmann!” One of the soldiers called, playing his light on the food bag. He knelt down and rummaged in it, then found the open top for the can.
Preget snorted. “Time for dinner, eh? You might as well come out.”
There was the sound of shifting dirt as the words echoed around the room. A flush of fresh cold air ruffled Moffitt’s hair. He’d lost his beret when they fled into the cave.
There has to be a way out of here, goddamn it! Moffitt thought desperately. He knew that getting caught by Preget was the equivalent of a sentence to death. Dietrich had warned them about this officer, a warning that took the Rat Patrol by surprise considering that Dietrich was their enemy. Preget, though, had made it into a personal quest since they’d apparently made him look foolish when he first arrived. Neither Troy or Moffitt remembered the raid that Dietrich alluded too. It must have been too insignificant for them to even note for their records, but it burned for Preget.
Moffitt didn’t intend to be sacrificed on one of these altars behind him. The major drawback was that every time he moved, he could feel his shoulder scream in pain. He slid his arm out of the sling, stuffing the black scarf into his shirt, and waited until the light had moved on towards the back of the room, then pulled himself upright. He picked up the can and put it behind him on the altar but spilled the contents. The smell of beef gravy floated into the air.
Preget sniffed. “Roast beef?”
Moffitt started to go to the right, but a sweep of the torchlight ran across him and the altar. He saw the carving clearly just as the soldiers let out a cry of triumph. The Greek warrior killing a bull with other warriors around him. Mithras, a Persian import very popular with the Roman legions. A soldier’s deity. Moffitt had read the legends and history back at Cambridge but never expected to be face-to-face with such an exquisite example of the altar. Well, if Mithras had to choose between the Germans and the English, maybe he’d go with him. After all, the Romans didn’t really like the Germanic tribes much. Damn! I didn’t really want to end like this.
Moffitt faced Preget , but didn’t put his hands up in surrender.. At least two machine guns were aimed at him, and he was in the glare of the light
“You are Sergeant Jack Moffitt?” Preget demanded in English. The harsh Prussian accent grated on Moffitt’s ear. It sounded as if he was gloating.
“Yes.”
“You are my prisoner. Where is your servant?”
Moffitt stared at him blankly. “Servant?”
“The other man with you.”
“Servant?” Moffitt laughed, and the room was filled with echoes. It sounded infinitely scornful. “Where did you come from, Captain? He’s an American!”
Preget’s face went flushed with anger, and his hand shook. Moffitt hoped that he wouldn’t pull the trigger out of sheer rage. “Where is he?”
***
The moon rose over Troy, Hitchcock and their opponents. Huge and full against the midnight blue of the darkening sky, the neighboring stars were dimmed by the luminous globe and the nimbus around it. It was going to be a cold night. The cave’s entrance was sunk in darkness but the car was bathed in light. There’d be no escape in that.
Hans Dietrich cursed the stubbornness of the men on the other side of the rocks. He understood Troy’s point of view; for the American, Dietrich was just one more enemy to be killed or capture, but for Dietrich the enemy was Preget here, not Troy; and Troy’s attitude was getting in the way.
From the moment that Preget landed, he was on Dietrich’s case about the Rat Patrol. Ultimately, Preget had Rommel in his sights, but he’d start with Dietrich, one of the more successful of Rommel’s tank officers.
Preget's first run-in with the Rat Patrol had set the tone. The convoy had carried necessary supplies for the Panzer division on the southern borders, and Preget had snubbed Dietrich’s attempt to add to the security so that it might get through safely.
Hence the destruction of several of the trucks, and the attached guns by the Rat Patrol had not only brought down Preget’s wrath on the Rat Patrol but on Dietrich. The captain had to be polite; Preget had supporters back in Berlin and on Rommel’s staff who were also afraid of the man.
Dietrich had little compunction for saving himself over saving the Rat Patrol but from Preget’s threats, he was fairly sure that after the officer caught Troy and the others, he’d turn his wrath on Dietrich, and the captain hadn’t lived this long without learning to watch his back.
If I’m really lucky, Troy and the others might just kill Preget, and all I have to do is find a nice, wooden coffin. I need more men; I’m outnumbered by Preget. When he brings Sergeant Moffitt’s body back, and the other one, ah, Pettigrew, then he’ll have five to my two. I need to get more men out here. Fool that I was, I don’t have my radio with me, and Preget didn’t bring his either. Then again, I assumed he would already have captured the Rat Patrol from the way he took off after them! He glanced at the one in the back of Moffitt’s jeep but saw nothing but burned machinery. Even the jerricans of water had holes in them, and the precious liquid had drained out. Dietrich shook his head in disgust. Even Preget should know how important water was in the desert! The sooner the man was on his way to heaven or the Russian Front, the better!
He inched his way towards the rocks, praying that Troy wouldn’t see his light uniform in the moonlight.
***
Troy bit his lip. Stalemate --- he on one side, and Dietrich on the other. He heard sounds from the other side of the truck, and he peered around the rock to see if anyone was moving.
There was movement on the other side. Was that Dietrich slinking from one rock toward the other, heading for his Kubelwagon? Yes, it was.
Troy aimed for the next empty space that Dietrich would have to cross but when it came, he couldn’t kill the man. He fired instead hitting the stone right in front of Dietrich. The German jumped back behind the previous rock.
Hitchcock had been dozing but started up, grabbing for his gun. Troy held up his hand to stop him from firing. Hitchcock glanced at the situation then settled back to wait.
“Going somewhere, Captain?” Troy called.
“Your aim is off, Sergeant!”
“I hit what I aimed for, Captain!”
“What do you have planned when your men come out, Sergeant?” Dietrich called. “You will be outnumbered by my soldiers.”
“Oh, I’ll come up with something, Captain,” Troy replied lightly though with grim intent underneath. “Maybe you’d like to surrender now?”
Dietrich laughed, and after a second, so did Troy. It broke the tension. “I don’t think I’ll do that, Sergeant.”
“Well, I’d suggest you go back to the car, then, Captain,” Troy said. “Because if you head for your truck, I’ll cut you down.”
No sound for a second, then Dietrich dodged back toward the Kubelwagen. Troy didn’t aim at him. He was satisfied with the status quo.
Then Dietrich let out an stream of German, and his soldiers, who had been hiding behind the staff car, acknowledged. Preget’s two men began firing towards Troy’s rocks, and he hid.
Damn! Dietrich got tired of waiting and has called in reinforcements! What the hell am I going to do now? Why doesn’t this Preget just bring them out if he’s caught them? What’s the hold up?
Troy settled back to wait. Preget's men could waste all the ammunition they wanted. Troy was after bigger game.
“Sergeant, you have lost this round!”
“But not the war, Captain. Seems like your man’s taking his time?”
“Unfortunately, Sergeant, that is part of his reputation. Let me go in and find out what is happening!”
“No way, Captain! I’ll kill you next time.”
“I will have more men here shortly!”
They heard the hum of engines. Sound traveled far in the desert air. “Looks like your men will have other things on their minds, Captain! Another raid coming in.”
“On the contrary, Sergeant! Those are our airplanes! Stukas!”
Troy looked up. Stukas had a characteristic shape and that was clearly what was flying across the moon’s face. “I wouldn’t be too sure that they’ll get anywhere, Captain! It’s a hunter’s moon. Here come the night fighters.”
The aerial battle caught everyone’s attention. Stukas and Hurricanes tangled in the bright moonlight, and the earth shook every time one of them went spiraling out of control and crashed.
“Have you ever hunted game, Sergeant?”
“Used to,” Troy answered, his attention drawn back to Dietrich.
“Preget hunted up at Berchtesgaden. He boasted that he was a finer hunter than Orion.”
Troy wondered if Dietrich had gone insane. Who the hell was Orion? He wished that Moffitt was here because the name sounded familiar.
“If I remember correctly, Captain, Orion was killed because he tried to ravish the goddess Artemis. You’re after Agamemnon who said he was a better hunter,” Hitchcock said unexpectedly. “Boasting that you’re better than the gods usually made them angry!”
Troy laughed. He’d forgotten that he had a prep-school boy as a driver. “So, what’s your point, Captain?”
“If that is true, Private, then maybe a prayer to Artemis will take out Captain Preget,” Dietrich called acidly.
“Aren’t you a little afraid of what your men think, Captain?”
“They don’t speak English,” Dietrich replied. “I checked that first.”
“So what do we get if we kill Preget, Dietrich? Going to let us escape?”
“I’ll make sure you stay alive long enough to reach a prisoner-of-war camp. It’s a better offer than you’ll get from most officers!”
“You’re not going after the bounty?”
“I’ll forgo it this time!”
Their conversation was stopped by a Stuka which was headed straight for their canyon. At the last moment the pilot pulled up too late, but the plane plowed into the top of the mountain in a huge explosion augmented by its un-dropped bombs.
Troy prayed that he and Hitchcock would survive the multiple explosions. Hopefully Moffitt and Tully would be safe inside the rocks.
***
A pistol shot split through the darkness. The torch in the hand of one of the soldiers splintered as the soldier slumped to the ground with a scream of pain. The bullet must have hit him in the shoulder.
Moffitt fell against the altar as a bullet from Preget’s gun went past him, shattering Mithras’ head. He hit his shoulder on the limestone and saw blackness as the joint snapped back into place. It didn’t feel that much better than when it had been dislocated. Blood trickled from where a fragment of the limestone carving had cut his ear. It stained his collar. After a fraction of a second, his vision cleared enough that he could see Preget kicking his soldier in the stomach. The man went silent after the third blow.
Preget didn’t take cover despite the fact that the light of the other two torches reflected off the buttons on the front of his coat, making him a fine target for Tully’s gun. He jumped over the torso of Neptune and grabbed Moffitt. Preget dragged him out to where the tall statue of the young man watched the battle with a supercilious smile. “Stop your man from shooting, or I will kill you! Tell your man to come out or I will shoot you here and now, Sergeant!”
Moffitt saw that he meant it. This was one man that had absolutely no compunctions about shooting him in cold blood.
Another shot rang out, and a second soldier went down, his torch rolling away, then going on. The man with the last torch looked unnerved and the light flittered around the room trying to find the sniper.
Preget’s heavy hand came down on Moffitt’s wounded shoulder and the sergeant gave an involuntary cry of pain. The agony didn’t affect his reflexes though. He aimed a blow at the well-padded Preget which knocked the breath out of the man. Moffitt tried to dodge the gun which Preget was using as a club but didn’t make it. The metal landed on the side of his head, and Moffitt went down, face-to-face with Neptune’s arm and trident.
“Too bad that Americans don’t follow orders,” Preset sneered in German and aimed for the back of Moffitt’s head.
Moffitt didn’t reply. His dazed eyes saw the ancient lettering on the bottom of the tall statue, and automatically translated despite the fact that he was probably going to get his head blown off. How appropriate. We’re being watched by one of the biggest military sods in Roman history, who thought he was a god, and I’m going to be a human sacrifice. Well, he burned Christians too. Good old Gaius...
“Herr Hauptmann!” the soldier with the light called out in fear. “Ticking!”
“Ticking?” Preget said, and Moffitt heard the edge of fear. So the great Prussian hunter was afraid of something after all.
“There’s a bomb back there,” Tully called unexpectedly. “One of ours.”
“Bomb!” said three voices in equal surprise.
The soldier looked at Preget who was glaring around at the darkness. Finally, he declared, “He’s lying!”
Moffitt laughed weakly. “Tully doesn’t lie.” He craned his neck to see Preget hesitate, his aim shifting.
Preget shot randomly into the darkness, and Moffitt took his chance. He threw himself against Preget’s legs.
Moffitt was fighting for his life against an enemy who simply wanted to kill him. Every time he moved his shoulder, shattering agony flowed through him. But survival came first, and that was what kept the Englishman from giving up. He wasn’t going to give this bastard the pleasure of ending his existence.
Their struggle took them over piles of statuary rubble. They rolled against the tall statue, and Moffitt could feel the plinth shake as they hit. The statue probably weighs several stone! I’d better be more careful.
Under his feet he felt a solid piece of marble, and with one kick managed to free himself from Preget’s grip. He grabbed for the marble and found himself holding Neptune’s arm including trident.
Preget stopped just in time to keep himself from being impaled. His hand went down to where his gun would have hung, but the holster was empty.
Moffitt took a deep breath, and pulled himself to a seated position. “Looks like I win.”
“Nein!” Preget looked around, seeing one of his fallen soldiers whose gun was still in his hand. He lunged for it, and Moffitt stabbed forward with the arm.
He missed but Preget altered course, coming up against the tall statue which rocked under the impact.
Moffitt felt a surge of pure fear. That statue could crush him.
Suddenly, there was light as Tully threw his torch at the officer. The fire set the long greatcoat on fire, and Preget gave a cry of pain. The German slammed against the plinth, ignoring the effect on the statue, to snuff the flames. The statue of the young man rocked back and forth in danger of falling.
Tully held out his hand, not seeing the danger above him. “Come on, Sarge! We gotta get out of here!”
“You’ve never been so right!” Moffitt didn’t look back as he heard the statue strike the stone floor and a scream of pain. He clamped his arm to his side to prevent more damage to his shoulder as they staggered towards the door.
Thump! Thud! Dirt sifted over them. It felt like the roof was coming down. Moffitt felt blood trickling down his back but no pain. It took a second for him to realize it probably belonged to Tully. “How badly are you wounded?” he snapped as they paused inside the tunnel.
“’Been worst hurt hunting squirrels,” Tully replied. “Rock nicked my hand.”
“Got an idea of where we’re going?”
“Up. Get the hell out here before that bomb goes off?”
“There really is a bomb?”
“Yeah!”
Moffitt pushed off from the stone wall. “Fortune favors the brave. Get moving!”
***
Outside both Troy and Dietrich were bent over trying to survive the aftermath of the destroyed Stuka. The plane was burning, filling the air with black smoke and the sickening smell of burning man. The moon overhead had soot on its face.
Troy wished that the fighters had a better aim. The planes were dumping their loads before heading home. Unfortunately, the bombs were landing around the waiting men.
Dietrich wasn’t handling it much better. He and his men retreated behind the stones behind the staff car which was being buried in dirt and rock.
I suppose this is what Pompeii was like, Troy thought. Wasn’t that the city that was buried?
The ground rocked beneath their feet as a bomb exploded. A gout of flame blew up from the inside of the mountain, and the stone rocked. Troy felt a sick jolt. No one could survived that. The cave must have collapsed in the explosion. Troy gave up any hope for Moffitt and Tully.
Through the cloud of dirt and dust, he thought he saw someone move at the face of the cave, and then two men stumbled out, heading for Dietrich. They ran into the side of the car, and hesitated, then turned towards the wreckage of the jeep. Both men start for the other side of the canyon, one stumbling badly, and the other helping him along.
Then the face of the mountain exploded, and stone cascaded down on the staff car and the runners.
Troy cursed fluidly. The front of the cave was a mass of dust and dirt, and flames spouted from the inside. Stones flew through the air and scored the rocks around him.
A round object came flying out of the sky to roll across the dry sand and hit Dietrich’s car, bouncing over to hit the rocks where he had retreated. .
With a sickening jolt Troy realized it wasn’t a boulder but a human head. It rested against the rock, stained with something that Troy couldn’t see clearly.
“Sarge!”
Troy dimly heard Hitchcock’s cry but did notice when his driver started down the hill into the dust storm. He followed, numb from the noise and flying rocks. What had Hitchcock seen?
The two men had fallen and were mostly buried in the dirt and debris but one was struggling to get up.
Coughing heavily, Hitchcock pulled up his scarf to keep the dust out of his mouth, and went back to digging. He uncovered Tully. The private was lying on top of Moffitt.
Troy was on his knees doing the same.
Another explosion splattered dirt over them all. Troy turned back to uncovering Moffitt who looked like a corpse, covered with dust and soot. His nose was bleeding from hitting the ground hard. His expression brightened when he saw Troy, who grinned back.
Hitchcock and Troy dragged the unconscious Tully to the shelter of the rocks, Moffitt staggering behind them.
“Time to leave,” Troy said, then realized that the others were as deaf as he was. He waved at the others, and Moffitt and Hitchcock lifted the unconscious man. Moffitt winced but didn’t let go when Tully’s weight landed on his shoulder.
Troy noticed. He wondered what else he’d have to find out when they could all hear each other--like what happened to Tully’s shirt, why Moffitt smelled of beef, and whose head was rolling at Dietrich’s feet.
He looked back. The dust was finally settling and he could see the staff car was half-buried in dirt. Soldiers were wandering around, looking dazed. Where was Dietrich? Could his most persistent enemy somewhere under the dirt?
Troy finally saw him, covered with dirt and soot but looking like Hamlet contemplating the head in his hands. He didn’t look horrified or disgusted but rather thoughtful.
Dietrich looked up and saw him. His expression changed to respect. He shifted the head in his hand so that it looked at Troy.
The young man’s expression was serenely smug. It was marble, spotted with soot.
Whose statue was that? Wasn’t Dietrich coming after them? The German was being unusually generous.
The roar of engines overhead reminded Troy that there was still a war going on, and, with the full moon, that it was a perfect night for the raid. It would be in his self-interest to get them all back to his jeep and out of the area. If Dietrich chose to follow them, well, there was still one gun to keep him at bay.
“How appropriate.”
Troy turned. Moffitt was standing behind him, one arm cradled in a sling made of his black cravat. His voice sounded very far away.
“Appropriate?”
“That head. It’s from the statue that fell on Preget.”
“Who is it?”
Moffitt smiled grimly. “Someone who is on a par with Der Fuhrer in the ancient world. Gaius Caesar Augustus… I’ve forgotten the last name.”
Troy eyed him. “Someone I should know?”
“Better known as Caligula. An emperor who was known for his slaughters of friends and family. Declared himself a god, and ended up being killed by his own men.”
“Let’s hope that Hitler has the same end. How do you feel?”
Moffitt shook his head, and caught himself before he swayed. “Fine.”
Troy laughed at the patent untruth. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a full moon to get home by.”
Moffitt looked up and smiled. “Yeah. The sign of another god. Or rather goddess. Artemis, the goddess of the hunt. I’m pretty sure there’d was a statue to her in there as well. Blown to bits now.”
“You’ll have to explain it to me,” Troy commented. “Ancient myths aren't my strong point."
“Yes.” Moffitt lingered for a second staring at Dietrich who was still watching them. “I wonder if those old gods still have power, Troy. Preget miffed the soldier's god, Mithras. Blew his altar away.”
“You have to be kidding. I mean, don’t you have to do something special to call them up?”
“It’s not like calling up the devil, you know. Just say a prayer and leave a light on the altar.” Moffitt shrugged, then winced. “Let’s get out of here.”