Chapter Ten
February 2 Lindisl
SS Major Lindisl, on detached duty as head of security in southern Tunisia, was riding in his kubelwagon, the German equivalent of the American jeep, when it topped the rise and he saw the two buildings. “Stop!” he yelled at his driver. As the vehicle sat and idled, he gave the area a piercing look. There was no sign of life and no halftrack. He caught movement from the corner of his eye, turned his head and saw the three camels standing on another ridge, snuffing up the wind. He knew then that something terrible had happened; the Arabs would never have willingly left their camels behind if they had left in the halftrack. “Go,” he ordered his driver.
As they stopped in front of the buildings, the Arab came out of the smaller one, shedding a rope as he came out, a frightened look on his face as he caught sight of the major. “What happened?” Major Lindisl commanded.
“Master, they came in shooting, they caught us by surprise, we had no chance,” he stuttered. Lindisl grabbed and shook him like a rag doll, “Who, who shot you, who took the halftrack?”
“Americans, Master,” he whined
At first stunned by the answer, Lindisl recovered and lifted the Arab off of his feet by his grip on the front of his robe, “How do you know they were Americans?” he thundered.
“By their uniforms, master,” he gasped. Lindisl threw him to the ground. “Where are the others? Where are the cases that were in the halftrack? Talk, you dog, or you will never speak again!”
“Oh Master, the others are all dead,” he groveled. He swiveled an eye around the area, “I don’t know about the cases, the last time I saw them, they were in the vehicle.”
“Why are you not dead?”
“Allah was merciful to me, I fought hard, but I was overpowered and they captured me. I only just now escaped from the bonds. See, the rope is lying just over there. Oh, have mercy on me, oh Great Master, I am your loyal servant.”
Lindisl was trying to control his mighty anger at having his loot stolen; there was a mystery here that he needed to get to the bottom of. “Sergeant,” he bellowed at his driver, “go search the buildings, see what you can find.” The driver had been trying to make himself invisible because when the major was angry, he wasn’t particular about whom he lashed at, and was only too glad to make himself scarce. Lindisl regarded the Arab narrowly, “So why didn’t they kill you?” The Arab just shrugged, “I don’t know, Master.”
“Soft Americans,” Lindisl grunted in disgust. ‘And why were they here?’ he thought to himself.
The sergeant came out, “Nothing, Major.” Dane had done a good job of cleaning out all evidence that they had ever been there. The sergeant disappeared around the buildings.
“Do you know where they were going or what direction they went?” Lindisl asked the frightened Arab.
“No Master,” he brightened, “but I did hear them say Kairouan.”
The sergeant returned, “It looks like there was some digging behind that building,” he pointed.
Lindisl grunted, “Dog, go dig up what is buried, Sergeant, go with him.” He went to where the halftrack had been parked, and laboriously followed the faint tracks in the stony soil up to the ridge and looked in the direction the tracks went. “Southeast, not north,” he muttered to himself, “that’s why they let the dog live. Now why southeast? Are they fugitives from the battle and trying to circle around and make it to their own lines, or are they on a mission? And if on a mission, where to? Sfax is in that direction, or are they heading towards Gabes and the British lines? No, Sfax, they must be heading for Sfax. Why, I wonder?” He turned and tramped back to where the other two were digging. The Arab had helped to dig the grave, but he had not seen what was put into it. The sergeant looked up, “They buried whatever is here deep, Major.” After about ten more minutes the shovel struck something soft. They brushed back some dirt and saw some white clothing. In a few more minutes they pulled out an Arab body. After another half hour they had all five bodies, but no sign of buried treasure. Lindisl searched the body of the American but found only empty pockets and scowled down at it. Finally he stood up, “Throw the bodies back in and fill the hole up,” he ordered. As the Arab dropped the last body in the hole, Lindisl drew his gun and shot him. “He knew too much,” he told the startled sergeant. “Throw him in and fill the hole.” As the sergeant started to cover the bodies, he waited to feel a bullet in his back, but the major just stared off into space, anger simmering in him for whoever it was that had stolen the loot he had stolen.
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