by James A. Cox
destroyed. The major well would take a week or more to repair.Who had committed the sabotage? Some said the Tuareg, some said localfollowers of El Hassan, others, desert tribesmen resentful of _both_the Arab Union and El Hassan.
One of his routine patrols, feeling out toward Meniet to the north,had suddenly dropped radio communication, almost in mid-sentence. Arelieving patrol had thus far found nothing, the armored car's trackscovered over by the sands.
And rumors, rumors, rumors, Colonel Midan Ibrahim, born ofaristocratic Alexandrian blood, though trained to a sharp edge in NearEastern warfare, was basically city bred. The gloss of desert trainingmight take on him, but the bedouin life itself was not in hisexperience, and it was hard for him to trace the dividing line betweenpossibility and fantasy.
Rumors, rumors, rumors. They seemed capable of sweeping from one endof the Sahara to the other in a matter of hours. Faster, it would seemthan the information could be dispensed by radio. El Hassan was here.El Hassan was there. El Hassan was marching on Rabat, in Morocco; ElHassan had just signed a treaty with the Soviet Complex; El Hassan hadbeen assassinated by a disgruntled follower. Or El Hassan was arenegade Christian; El Hassan was a Moslem of Sheriffian blood, adirect descendant of the Prophet; El Hassan was a pagan come up fromDahomey and practiced ritual cannibalism; El Hassan was a Jew, aveteran of the Israel debacle.
But this Colonel Ibrahim knew--the Tuareg had gone over to the newmovement en masse. Something there was in El Hassan and his dream thathad appealed to the Forgotten of Allah. The Tuareg, for the first timesince the French Camel Corps had broken their strength, wereunited--united and on the move.
The Tuareg were everywhere. In most sinister fashion--everywhere. Andall were El Hassan's men.
Colonel Ibrahim fumed and wondered what kept his superiors fromsending in additional columns, additional armored elements. And, aboveall, adequate air cover. Ha! Give the colonel sufficient aircraft andhe'd begin snuffing out bedouin life like candles--and bring the Peaceof Allah to the Ahaggar.
So Colonel Ibrahim fumed, demanded further orders from mum superiors,and put his legionnaires to work on bigger and better gunemplacements, trenches and pillboxes surrounding Fort Laperinne andTamanrasset.
* * * * *
El Hassan's personal entourage numbered exactly twenty persons. Ofthese, five were his immediate English-speaking, Western-educatedsupporters, Cliff, Isobel and the new Jack and Jimmy Peters and DaveMoroka. Rex Donaldson had been sent south again to operate in Senegaland Mali, to take over direction of the rapidly spreading movement insuch centers as Bamako and Mopti and later, if possible, in Dakar.
The other fifteen were carefully selected Tuareg, picked from amongGuemama's tribesmen taking care to show no preference to any tribe orclan, and taking particular care to choose men who fought coolly,unexcitedly, and didn't froth at the mouth when in action; men whowere slow to charge wildly into the enemy's guns--but slower still toretreat when the going was hot. El Hassan was prone to neither heronor coward in his personal bodyguard.
They kept under movement. In Abelessa one day, almost in range of themobile artillery of the Arab Legion; in Timassao the next, checkingthe wells that meant everything to a desert force; the following dayas far south as the Tamesna region to rally the less warlikeIrreguenaten, a half-breed Tuareg people largely held in scorn bythose of the Ahaggar.
Homer Crawford was killing time whilst stirring up as much noise anddust as his handful of followers could manage. Killing time untilElmer Allen from the Chaambra country, Bey-ag-Akhamouk from the Teda,and Kenny Ballalou from the west could show up with their columns. Hehad no illusions of how things now stood. At best, he could holdtogether a thousand Tuareg fighting men. No more. The economics ofdesert life prevented him a larger force, unless he had the resourcesof the modern world at hand, and he didn't. Besides that, the Tuaregconfederation could provide no larger number of fighting men and atthe same time continue their desert economy.
He stood now with Isobel, Cliff and Dave Moroka in one of the westerntype tents which the Peters brothers had brought with them in theirhover-lorries, and poured over the half-adequate maps which coveredthe area.
Dave Moroka traced with a finger. "If we could dominate these wellsrunning to Djanet, our Arab Union friends would have only their oneline of supply going through Temassinine to Ghademes. That's a longhaul, Homer."
Homer Crawford scowled thoughtfully. "That involves only four wells.If Ibrahim's legionnaires staked out only three armored vehicles ateach water hole, they could hold them. Our camelmen could never takearmor."
Moroka frowned, too. "We've got to start _some_ sort of action, or themen will start dribbling away."
Cliff Jackson said, "Bey and Kenny and Elmer should be coming soon. Iheard a radio item this morning about a big pro-El Hassan movementstarting in the Sudan among the Teda."
Moroka said, "We need some sort of quick, spectacular victory. Thebedouin can lose interest as quickly as they can get steamed up, andthus far we haven't given them anything but words--promises."
"You're right," Homer growled, "but there's nothing we can do rightnow but mark time. Irritate the Arabs a bit. Keep them from spreadingout."
Isobel brought coffee, handing around the small Moroccan cups. Shesaid, "Well, one thing is certain. We get supplies soon or starteating jerked goat and camel milk curds."
Moroka said in irritation, "It's not funny."
Isobel raised her eyebrows. "I didn't mean it to be. Have you everbeen on a camel curd diet?"
"Yes, I have," Moroka said impatiently. He turned back to HomerCrawford. "How about waylaying an armored car or so, just in the wayof giving the men something exciting to do?"
Crawford ran a hand back through his short hair. "Confound it, Dave,can you picture what a Recoilless-Brenn gun would do to a harka of ourcharging camelmen? We can't let these people be butchered."
"I wasn't thinking of wild charges," Moroka argued.
They had both turned away from Isobel, in their discussion. Now shelooked at them, strangely. And especially at Homer Crawford. Hisbrusqueness toward her didn't seem the old Homer.
* * * * *
There was a bustle from outside and a guardsman stuck his head in thetent entrance and reported in Tamaheq that a small camel patrolapproached.
The four of them went out. Coming up were a dozen Tuareg and two motorvehicles.
Cliff said, "Something new."
Moroka said, "We can use the transport."
"Let's see who they are, before we start requisitioning theirproperty," Homer said dryly.
The two desert trucks had hardly come to a halt before the camouflagedtents and hover-lorries of El Hassan's small encampment before aheavy-set, gray haired Negro, whose energy belied his weight, bounceddown from the seat adjacent to the driver's in the lead vehicle andstomped belligerently to the group before the tent.
"What is the meaning of this?" he snapped.
Homer Crawford looked at him. "I'm sure I don't know as yet, Dr.Smythe. Neither you nor these followers of mine have informed me as towhat has transpired. Won't you enter my quarters here and we'll gointo it under more comfortable conditions?" He glanced upward at themidday Saharan sun.
The other seemed taken aback at Crawford calling him by name. Hesquinted at the man who was seemingly his captor.
"Crawford!" he snapped. "Dr. Homer Crawford! See here, what is themeaning of this?"
Homer said, "Dr. Warren Harding Smythe, may I present IsobelCunningham, Clifford Jackson and David Moroka, of my staff?"
"Huuump. I met Miss Cunningham and, I believe, Mr. Jackson at thatridiculous meeting in Timbuktu, a short time ago." The doctor peeredover his glasses at Moroka.
The wiry South African nodded his head. "A pleasure, Doctor." He heldopen the tent entrance.
Smythe snorted again and stomped inside to escape the sun's glare.
In the shade of the tent's interior, Isobel clucked at him and hurriedto get a d
rink of water from a moist water cooler. Homer Crawfordmotioned the other to a seat, and took one himself. "Now then, Dr.Smythe."
The indignant medic blurted, "Those confounded bandits out there--"
"Irregular camel cavalry," Crawford amended gently.
"They've kidnapped me and my staff. I demand that you intercede, ifyou have any influence with them."
"What were you doing?" Crawford was frowning at the other. Actually,he had no idea of the circumstances under which the probablyoverenthusiastic Tuareg troopers had rounded up the American medicalman.
"Doing? You know perfectly well I represent the American MedicalRelief. My team has been in the vicinity of Silet, working with thenomads. The country is rife with everything from
