The Doomed Oasis

by Hammond Innes

  ‘What he’s doing,’ I said, ‘he’s doing because he’s accepted the things you believed in; he made your world his own, Saraifa his home. And the background you complain of is the reason he’s doing it so successfully. He’s got the Emir to withdraw his forces from Saraifa. Now is the time surely when your influence … ‘

  ‘My influence? What influence do you think I have now? Men have been killed and that’s something only blood can wipe out.’ And he added, staring into the distance, ‘If I’d gone with the Emir’s secretary, I’d have been held hostage for David’s submission - his life or mine. And when next the Emir sends an emissary, he’ll come in force. That was made very plain.’

  He put his hand up to his head, covering his eye as though to shut out the desert and concentrate on what was in his mind. ‘It’s madness,’ he breathed. ‘Madness. He can’t achieve anything … ‘

  ‘How do you know?’ I demanded angrily. ‘Ruffini has the whole story now and … ‘

  That Italian?’ He let his hand fall, staring at me in surprise. ‘How can he affect the situation? The authorities aren’t going to take any notice of him.’ He said it as though to convince himself, and then in a voice so hoarse it seemed to be torn out of him: ‘He’ll die up there and that’ll be the end of it.’ The look on his face was quite frightening. He turned and walked slowly to his tent. I didn’t see him again that evening, and the next day his manner was still very strange. We hardly exchanged a word and I was glad when Captain Berry arrived.

  Looking back on it, I suppose I should have tried to understand his predicament. He hadn’t enough men to get David out by force and he was probably right in saying the situation had gone beyond the reach of his influence with the Emir. What I didn’t realize was that I was seeing a man in the grip of events, forced to a re-assessment of his whole life and the values by which he had lived - and being driven half out of his mind in the process.

  It was late afternoon when Berry got in. A lean, bony-looking Scot with fair hair and a face that was almost brick-red in the slanting sun, he brought a breath of sanity into that sultry camp, for he was from outside and not emotionally involved in what was happening forty miles to the east. He had a message for me from Colonel George picked up on his radio that morning. ‘I’m to tell you that your Italian friend got his story out in time and that you’re not to worry. Everything possible is being done. The Colonel has been ordered to Bahrain to report to the Political Resident in person. Oh, and he said a Nurse Thomas sent you her love and is glad to know you’re safe. Okay?’

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. For the moment I could think of nothing but that message from Sue. Captain Berry was speaking to Whitaker, something about his son showing what one determined and resolute man could achieve. He was one of those soldiers that believe action is the solution to everything. ‘You must be very proud of him, sir.’ Colonel Whitaker’s face was without expression, but a nerve flickered along the line of his jaw and he turned away.

  Berry watched him for a moment, a puzzled look on his face. ‘That’s a man I’ve always wanted to meet,’ he said.

  ‘But I’m surprised he left this to his son. After what’s happened in Saraifa, I should have thought he’d have been busy raising the desert tribes. It would have solved our difficulty if he had. We might be allowed to support a desert rising against the Emir.’

  ‘I take it,’ I said, ‘you’ll be leaving at once.’ It wasn’t only that I wanted to know what had happened since I’d left Jebel al-Akhbar. I wanted to get away from that camp.

  But he told me it was out of the question. They’d been driving for over twenty hours. Both the wireless truck and the Land-Rover had to be serviced, the men needed sleep. He had a wireless operator with him and five levies of the TOS under a corporal. ‘Leave at first light. Makes no difference, I’m afraid,’ he added, seeing my impatience. ‘I can’t help Colonel Whitaker’s son. Mine’s only a watching brief. Anyway, it’s no good bashing these dunes in the dark.’

  He’d brought spare kit for me so that I had the luxury of a camp bed that night. And in the morning I was able to discard my Arab clothes, which by then were very filthy, and put on clean khaki shirt and shorts. We breakfasted on bully-beef and tinned peaches, washed down with a brew of strong tea, and then we left.

  Colonel Whitaker was there to see us go and as he said goodbye to me he gave me instructions that were to have considerable significance later: ‘If anything happens to me, Grant, I leave you to look after my affairs. I think you know enough about me now to understand what I want done if they find oil here.’ We drove off then and I remember thinking he looked a very lonely figure standing there with the clutter of the rig behind him. We went north, taking the shortest route across Hadd territory and driving fast. Keeping to the flat gravel stretches between the dunes, we were clear of Hadd’s northern border by ten-thirty. We turned east then, and the going became much slower, for we were crossing the lines of the dunes.

  At set times we stopped to make radio contact with TOS HQ. The only news of any importance was that Colonel George, before he left for Bahrain and therefore presumably acting on his own initiative, had ordered Berry’s Company south into the desert for exercises.

  Shortly after midday the dunes began to get smaller and in an area where it had rained quite recently we came upon the black tents of a Bedouin encampment, and there were camels browsing on untidy bushes of abal. Berry stopped and spoke with some of the men. ‘Well, your chap was alive yesterday,’ he said as we drove on. ‘I thought they were Al Bu Shamis, but they were of the Awamir and they came up past Jebel al-Akhbar yesterday. They say they heard intermittent firing. They also told me that the people of Saraifa are beginning to return to the oasis, that two falajes are running again and Khalid’s half-brother, Mahommed, is calling men to arms.’

  It was the first indication I had that what David had done had not been done in vain.

  Soon after that we became bogged down for several hours in an area of small dunes so confused that it looked like a petrified tidal race. As a result we didn’t sight Jebel al-Akhbar until late afternoon. We stopped at sunset. The hill looked deceptively close in the clear still air, the colours of the rock almost mauve, the sky behind quite green. ‘It’s about six miles away,’ Berry said, handing me his glasses. I could see the fort quite distinctly then, the tower in silhouette against the fantastic sky. Nothing moved there. No sign of life.

  I was tired after the long drive and I felt depressed. Darkness fell. We had our food and after the meal Berry disappeared into the back of the truck. He wanted to hear the BBC News. It kept him in touch, he said; but what he meant was that it brought home nearer and made the desert seem less remote.

  Nature’s needs took me into the desert and when he called to me I didn’t hear what it was he shouted, but only caught the excitement in his voice. Back at the truck I found him seated with the earphones pressed tight against his head. ‘It was in the summary,’ he said. And then after a while, ‘Your chap’s made the headlines apparently. A big story in one of the papers this morning.’ He removed the earphones and switched off. ‘They even got his name right and the name of the fort… And the Foreign Secretary is to be asked a question about it in the House tonight.’ He rolled his long body over the tailboard and stood beside me. ‘Funny thing,’ he said. ‘If it had been a soldier up there on the Jebel al-Akhbar, they’d have taken it for granted, or more probably somebody would have raised hell because the fellow had disobeyed orders. But because he’s a civilian … ‘ He gave a quick, derisive laugh. ‘Not that it makes any difference. One newspaper story and a question in the House won’t change my orders. We’ll be left to sit here and watch him die. That is if he isn’t dead already.’

  We’d heard no sound since we’d gone into camp. The night was deathly still, not a breath of air. And Berry made it plain to me that he couldn’t go any nearer. His orders were to stay in Trucial territory and in front of us stretched the invisible barrier of the Ha
dd border. ‘You can be certain we’re under observation. If I cross that border the political repercussions would be endless. As it is my Colonel’s sticking his neck out sending me down here on his own authority.’

  We stayed up late to listen to the last news summary from home. The item we were waiting for came towards the end. Questioned in the House this evening about reports that a British civilian, David Whitaker, with two Arabs, was holding the fort of Jebel al-Akhbar in the Arabian Emirate of Hadd, the Foreign Secretary said that the newspaper report emanated from a foreign source and was almost certainly without foundation. He added that he was having enquiries made … Cairo Radio this evening accused Britain of concentrating a large force on the Hadd border, including armoured cars and artillery …

  ‘Armoured cars and artillery!’ Berry snapped the receiver off. ‘Why the hell do they repeat that sort of nonsense?’ Like most soldiers who know what the situation is on the spot it made him contemptuous of the organs of publicity. ‘And you heard what the Foreign Secretary said. It’s all going to be hushed up. Oil and politics; it’s always the same out here in the Middle East. For the sake of peace and quiet a petty tyrant is going to be allowed to get away with murder.’ He jumped out of the truck and stood staring a moment towards the Jebel al-Akhbar. Finally he gave a little shrug. ‘Care for a drink? I’ve got a little Scotch left.’

  I shook my head. I was wondering whether any of the other papers would take the story up, and if so, whether they’d make enough of it to stir up public opinion. Only public opinion could force the Government to accept its responsibility for Saraifa and take action; and without that David’s sacrifice became pointless. ‘I think I’ll turn in now,’ I said. ‘I’m still very tired.’

  I slept like the dead that night and in the morning it wasn’t the sun that woke me, but Berry shaking my arm. ‘Somebody’s still in the fort. I heard shots just after dawn -very faint, but definitely rifle fire. I’ve reported it to HQ.’

  I scrambled up, sweaty from lying in my sleeping bag in the blazing sun, but ‘even through the glasses there was nothing to be seen, just the Jebel al-Akhbar shimmering in a heat haze. Berry glanced at his watch. ‘You might like to listen to what the newspapers are saying back home.’

  We went into the back of the truck and switched on the radio. It was an overseas service of the BBC with a round-up of news and opinions from the national press. I don’t know what I expected - what Berry expected. A few references, perhaps a leader. Instead, every newspaper had taken up the story. For almost ten minutes the thin voice of the announcer came to me through the earphones, speaking as though from another world, and giving variations on the theme of the story I had told Ruffini. David was headline news. One I particularly remember:

  BORSTAL BOY HOLDS FORT FOR FOREIGN OFFICE. And another popular paper was quoted as attacking the Foreign Secretary for trying to hoodwink the public.

  But the press reaction seemed to have made no impression on the official attitude. The only indication of increased interest was that radio contact with TOS HQ was every hour now on the hour. Colonel George, we learned, was back in Sharjah. Ruffini was still there. Berry’s Company was in a position ten miles west of Buraimi and about a hundred miles to the north of us. The day dragged on. The sun rose until the sky was a burnished bowl, a throbbing ache to the eyes, and the desert sand beneath our feet as hot as the lid of a stove. Several times we heard the distant sound of shots, but though we took it in turns to keep watch through the glasses, we saw no movement.

  We dozed between watches, ate snacks out of tins, and waited. Water was rationed and we became thirsty. Boredom set in. We listened to the BBC, but David was no longer in the news. Time was running out for him and my presence here seemed to serve no purpose. Those occasional, intermittent shots didn’t tell me whether he was alive or dead; they only indicated that the fort was still held. Repeatedly I tried to persuade Berry to move forward and recce under cover of darkness. But he was absolutely adamant. ‘I cross that border with British military vehicles and God knows where it would end.’

  By the end of the day we were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. The truth was that nothing would have pleased Berry more than to be allowed to call up his Company and go in and settle the whole business. In his quiet Scots way he was so tensed-up over the situation that the battle would have been a welcome relief. Instead of which he was tied down within sight of the Emir’s stronghold in the company of a man who was becoming more and more irritable at the delay.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t understand his difficulty. If he acted on his own initiative he might plunge the whole of Arabia into war, involve his own country and certainly ruin his career. It was a diplomatic tightrope that I couldn’t possibly expect him to walk. But understanding his difficulty didn’t help me to bear the inaction. To have to sit there, doing nothing, whilst six miles away that boy was dying by inches … The heat and frustration, it nearly drove me mad.

  I suppose it was the strain of the past fortnight. Berry gave me salt tablets, a large whisky and sent me to bed at dusk. At midnight he woke me to say we’d be moving at first light. The Colonel finally got Bahrain to agree to my making an attempt to get him out alive. I’m to try and arrange an audience with the Emir in the morning.’

  ‘And suppose he refuses to see you?’ I asked.

  ‘He won’t. What’s more he’ll accept my offer to mediate.’

  ‘You seem very confident.’

  ‘I am. I’m offering him a way out that’ll save his face. If we do what the men of his bodyguard have failed to do and get young Whitaker out of the fort, then the Emir at least gets credit for being cunning. That’s something to set against the laughter of the Bedou round their desert camp fires. I take it you’d like to come with me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He hesitated. ‘I think I’d better make it clear that I could be wrong about the Emir. He hasn’t a particularly savoury reputation and if he did decide to turn nasty… ‘He gave a little shrug. ‘So long as you understand the position.’

  Six hours later we were on the move, motoring across the flat, stony plain with the Jebel al-Akhbar growing bigger every minute until it towered above us, a grey, sugar-loaf mass against the rising sun. A Union Jack fluttered from the Land-Rover’s bonnet. There were just the two of us and Berry’s driver, Ismail, a tall, dark-skinned man, very neat in his khaki uniform and coloured TOS headcloth. No sound reached us above the noise of the engine. I could see no sign of movement on the hill above us.

  We rounded the shoulder of Jebel al-Akhbar by a dusty track and there suddenly was Hadd, yellow now in the sunshine with the Emir’s green flag hanging limp above the palace and the town silent and strangely empty with the tower I had known so well perched above it on the lip of the limestone cliffs. We passed a camp of the Emir’s men. Smoke spiralled blue from their cooking fires in the still morning air and they watched us curiously, wild, lank-haired men, their bodies strapped around with cartridges, their rifles slung across their shoulders. Several were wounded, the blood caked black on their bandages.

  The well outside the town was as we had left it that night, the wall destroyed by the explosion and nothing done to repair it. We entered Hadd by the main gate. The streets were empty, the little square deserted. Baulks of palm timber still lay where they had been thrown down in panic beside the damaged well. ‘Looks as though the population has moved out into the date gardens,’ Berry said. ‘Three men and they’ve stopped the life of this whole town dead. It’s incredible.’

  But looking up it wasn’t quite so incredible. That tower hung right over the town. All the way to the gates of the palace we could see it perched there above us. The narrowness of the streets was no protection; it looked right down into them.

  Berry’s appreciation of the Emir’s situation proved correct. After keeping us waiting for over an hour, he received us in a small room off one of the palace rooftops. There were armchairs in the Western style and a table on which stood
an expensive German camera and some models of tanks and armoured cars. The walls were hung with finely silvered guns and pictures of the Emir driving through Hadd in a glossy American car.

  The man himself was small and wiry, with a face that somehow managed to combine craftiness with great dignity; it was a long, rather cruel face, its length emphasized by the big nose and the little pointed beard glistening black with oil. His eyes were heavily made-up with kohl. Sheikh Abdullah was there and several other notables, including the Emir’s secretary, and though I couldn’t follow what was said, I was conscious of the atmosphere, which was distinctly hostile.

  The audience lasted a long time, with the Emir insisting at first that Berry storm the fort with his own troops, take David prisoner, and have him shot. When he refused, the Emir launched into a harangue that was so violent that the spittle actually flew from his lips.

  ‘I thought for a moment,’ Berry said afterwards, ‘that we were for it.’ Threatening us, however, didn’t solve the Emir’s problem, which was that he was being made to look a fool before his own people and all the desert world. After a long argument he finally agreed that if we were able to persuade the defenders to evacuate the fort they would be allowed to go unmolested.

  We waited whilst Sheikh Abduallah gave one of his men orders to climb the slopes of Jebel al-Akhbar under a white flag and announce a cease-fire. Berry had guessed that there were snipers posted among the rocks below the fort walls and he was taking no chances. ‘The extraordinary thing is,’ he said as we hurried out of the palace, ‘that they’re convinced there are at least a dozen men up there in the fort.’

  We drove back through the silent town, out past the deserted wells and the askari encampment, and took the dusty track that led round the shoulder of the hill. We left the Land-Rover at the foot of the camel track on the north side and started up on foot. The sun was high now and the heat throbbed back from the bare, scorched rock, beating up through the soles of our shoes. For a time the fort was lost behind ridges, but as we climbed higher the walls gradually came into view. There was no sign of Sheikh Abdullah’s snipers, no movement on the hilltop. The air was very still, the silence and the heat appalling. It was just over five days since I had come down this very track in the dark. Five days - just over one hundred and thirty hours to be exact, and under constant attack … It didn’t seem possible that David, or any of them, could still be alive. And yet Hadd was deserted and the Emir had agreed to Berry’s terms. We climbed fast, hoping for the best -fearing the worst. They must be out of water by now, wounded probably, perhaps only one of them left alive.