Desert Mercenary

by Barry Sadler

  He didn't tell Langer he had seen the figure of a man on their trail in the distance and another to their left flanking them. Langer had enough on his mind and there was nothing he could do about it anyway. Both were at least three kilometers away.

  Sunni Ali took the lead half-track, which held his radio, and began to move out to the north, flanking the mountain. He had to make a half circle to reach clear ground before he could straighten out his angle and run parallel. He didn't push it. To rush was to make mistakes.

  He had another call from his scouts on Mt. Baguezane. The raiding party was still heading north. They had come across several other booby traps, but these had been avoided now that they were aware of them. Half an hour later another call came in from one of his scouting parties to the north, and he knew he was correct. Three Land Rovers had been seen heading south. From the route of the Land Rovers, the direction of the raiding party, and the few places at which they would come together, Sunni Ali began to reduce his options one by one.

  Moving to the back of the Hanamog, he stood up behind the machine gun mount. An MG 34. It smelled of new oil. For a few minutes his heart sped up. He had a sense of deja vu, a taste of those great days when they'd first fought the British in Libya. The Afrika Korps had performed brilliantly. Though outnumbered, and with thin supplies, they had pushed the English back across the desert to the borders of Egypt.

  It was good to feel the vibrations of the war machine beneath his feet again. To be on the hunt for the best of all game, men. In front of him, scouting in a fan, were his three American jeeps, useful little things which could go almost anywhere, but it was the half-tracks which were his babies. With him were twenty of his best men who, though they wore the robes of the nomad, had the discipline of the Afrika Korps instilled in them. They would follow orders to the end.

  It was good: hot wind on his face, clear skies, and a hunt. He was almost thankful to whoever they were that they had come. He needed this kind of challenge to set his blood moving and to test himself. He would meet the challenge head on.

  Carl had not missed the Tuaregs trailing them. He turned to Mamud. "Let's go, old friend. We have a way to travel yet before we can rest."

  They trotted till they caught up with the small column. The girl was weakening. It occurred to Carl for the first time that he had not taken a good look at the couple. Now that he had them, they were less important than before. The girl stumbled. A huge paw helped her gently to her feet. Carl called out to Gus. "If she falls again, carry her."

  Carl moved up behind the young woman. She looked over her shoulder at the man who had rescued her and her husband from the cave. Timidly she attempted a smile, which failed. Even under the coating of dust the man's face had a quality to it, a detachment which frightened her somehow. Not that it was threatening; she didn't feel that. It was just... something.

  Carl passed her, going up to the head of the column. As he did, he looked carefully at each of his men. They were breathing hard. Sweat streaks on their faces had cut through the dust, giving them an aged appearance.

  Overhead he saw a pair of hungry vultures riding the air currents. "Not today, if I can help it. You'll have to look elsewhere for food," he remarked.

  Mamud went to the point again, guiding the men through the labyrinth of turns. Twice more Langer saw distant figures. This time one of them was on his right flank, standing on a crest. Men to their left, right, and rear. He didn't like that very much at all.

  Taking advantage of the fact that he had no one to avoid, Sunni Ali was able to make good time. Coming to a small plain near the base of the mountain, he called a halt. It was time now to make yet another move on this vast checkerboard.

  He took the radio and made calls, sending the signal out to the desert. At his command, bands of men began to converge. From his men on the mountain Sunni Ali knew he had the raiders right where he wanted them. He would keep the pressure on. He gave his people strict orders not to do any shooting unless it looked like the raiders had a chance of making good their escape. The fleeing prisoners were much too valuable. He wouldn't take chances on a stray bullet ending their usefulness to him. No, this was the time to begin channelizing them. He would present enough subtle yet viable obstacles to force them to move in the direction he wanted.

  Sims saw them too. He didn't need Graves' nervous finger to point them out. Riders on the horizon. Through his binoculars he saws there were at least twenty mounted men on horses with each party, one coming behind them from the north and the other to the west. They were making no effort to close in. The riders kept their distance, moving steady but unrushed. Sims didn't like it. He wished that he could have taken some evasive moves but there wasn't time. If he was to be at the rendezvous on schedule, he had no choice but to go on. At the 0900 check in he would tell Langer what was going on. Maybe he would have some strategy that would help.

  Carl placed the mike back on its hanger. To the others gathered around him he said flatly, "Looks like we're in for a bit more shit. This Sunni Ali knows his stuff. He's channelizing us. For those of you who haven't noticed, we have had company for the last couple of hours – Tuareg trailing us on three sides, leaving us only one way to go. Now it looks like he's doing the same thing to Sims. He's boxing us in. From here on out it's double time. Take nothing but ammo and water; drop everything else. Every second counts if we're going to get out of this in one piece. Gus, the girl is your responsibility."

  He turned to her husband. "How are you holding up? Can you go the distance? We have another two hours, maybe less, till we're supposed to meet with the Land Rovers. Can you keep up that long?"

  "I can make it," the youth assured him. "I know what's waiting for me back there. Just give me something to shoot with. It'll make me feel like I'm doing something, and I do know how to shoot."

  Langer liked the way the young St. Johns spoke, and he did have an extra weapon. "Dominic, give him Foche's piece and an extra magazine."

  The men around him were beginning to get that special look of uncertainty around the edges of their eyes. No one liked to run. It was always easier to attack than defend.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  From his outriders Sunni Ali knew the exact position and direction the Land Rovers were taking. On his map he began to rule out possibilities of escape. Giving it some thought, he tried to figure out what he would do if he was given the assignment the raiders were on.

  The most likely choice of options would be for the raiders to meet with the Land Rovers at a given spot and then make it to someplace a plane could set down to fetch them. Checking his map again against his memory of the area, he touched a spot with his fingernail. "It will be here, and I will be waiting for them."

  Felix spotted them first, coming out of the rocks. "There they are!" he cried out. Sims had his kit in hand, ready to take care of any wounds.

  Langer was in the lead. He waved Sims back. "No time for that shit now. We have company tailing us. Let's get loaded and get out of here. No one is hurt too badly. Mostly just blisters and sunburn."

  Under the coating of fine dust it was hard to tell how badly anyone was sunburned. They all looked the same.

  "Sims, I want you and the others to keep driving. You know what the ground is like better than we do. Just get us to the LZ. Monpelier did get the signal, didn't he?"

  Sims answered him dryly, slightly offended at the implied question of his competence. "Of course I did. And if I have it timed right, they should be over the LZ within minutes of our own arrival."

  "Good. Now let's get gone."

  Langer put the girl and her husband in the same Land Rover with Gus. The rest of the crew just climbed gratefully into the vehicles wherever there was room. It was with no regrets that they were leaving Baguezane behind them. They'd had enough of the mountain and were quite content to leave it to the lizards, snakes, and vultures.

  It looked as though they might have had it made, but Carl still didn't like the feeling of being herded. "Sims, where was
the last place you saw riders?"

  "Oh, about twenty kilometers from here. They were heading southwest away from me. Probably just a caravan of some sort, though I was a bit concerned for a time. They were the third group I had seen since yesterday. Why, do you think they're trouble?"

  Carl leaned his head back against the seat, trying to ignore the jolting of the Land Rover as Sims maneuvered it between, over, and around obstacles. "I don't know and that's what bothers me," he admitted. "Those Tuaregs should have been more confused, more disoriented. We hit them pretty hard. Caught them with their pants down. But they came back just as hard, and fast, too. Very professional. They didn't act like nomads. They responded like regular army troops, and damned good ones. We were lucky to get out with no more losses. Very lucky."

  Closing his eyes he made one last comment. "Try to keep this thing level. I'm going to try and get some shut eye. Wake me if you see anything or if we get within five kilometers of the LZ."

  "Right, love. You got it."

  Three dust trails marked their passage as they raced across the scrublands to where the plane would come to get them. Somehow it didn't seem possible that all this had started just a short time before. It seemed much longer than that.

  Monpelier leaned over between Parrish and Rigsby. "How much longer?"

  Parrish checked his watch. "About an hour, give or take five minutes."

  Sunni Ali was ready. The timing was nearly perfect. His horsemen and his vehicles awaited his command. Hidden behind rocks and in wadis, they had camouflaged their positions very carefully, especially so as not to be seen from the air. If the pilot was worth a damn, he would make at least one quick flight over to check out the area. Ali had reason to be satisfied. He had called the progression of the game perfectly. A bit of pressure here, a touch there, nothing too sinister, but it did force them to reveal what he wished to know. That and the process of elimination gave him the location of the landing zone.

  He had kept just enough pressure on the raiders to make them believe they had the edge, but not enough to waste any time. They would be anxious to get away. He knew he could have forced the issue at any time, but he wanted to see if he was right. Now the Land Rovers were at the end of what would be the LZ, a lake bed gone dry and baked as hard as concrete. They were at the south end. That meant the plane would come in from the north. Then they would load there, do a turn around, taxi back to the north, and take off into the wind. He would hit them when they began to load and perhaps, he was lucky, gain a plane in the bargain.

  Sunni Ali had given his warriors their orders. As soon as the plane began to throttle, back on the ground they were to shoot for the tires. His half-tracks would block the runway to prevent the possibility of them taking off, while his jeeps and horsemen would take care of the Land Rovers and their crews. Now it was time for just a bit more patience.

  "Silver to Copper. Do you read me? Over." Carl was contacting the plane.

  "Roger that, Silver. We've got you five by five. What does it look like down there? Over."

  The looks of relief were obvious on all faces except those of Gus, Dominic, and Sharif Mamud. They didn't seem to care one way or the other.

  "From where we're at it looks clear. The wind is from the south to north, about ten knots with light gusts."

  "I read you. We'll make a flyover and orbit the area for a look see. Then we'll come on in. Be ready to get on. I don't want to waste any time getting our ass out of here. Over and out."

  Parrish took the C 47 into a wide spiral, working toward the center. He saw nothing. Moving off a few miles to the north he turned the nose of the plane, put down his landing gear, lowered his flaps, and started coming in. "Should be easy," he said to Rigsby who merely grunted, his usual response.

  The wheels touched down, throwing up a stream of dust behind them. Opening the cargo door, Monpelier stood ready with a Browning automatic rifle. This was no time to get sloppy. Most things, if they went wrong, did so at the last moment.

  Langer and his party were ready, but Langer had had a bad feeling for the last fifteen minutes. "Gus! Take a couple of men and one of the Land Rovers and circle the strip. Keep an eye out. There's something wrong. I hope it's just my imagination. If everything's okay we'll meet at the far end. Graves, you and Abdul come with me."

  Gus had seen Langer's hunches prove right too many times in the past to argue about it. "Check your weapons, put one in the spout if you haven't already. We're going to take a look see." Obediently they climbed in, weapons out the windows, ready to fire if need be.

  They moved out rapidly. Halfway down the LZ they passed the plane. Gus waved at Parrish in the cockpit, then turned the nose of the Land Rover to avoid a rock and saw a flash to his left.

  "Oh shit!" If there was an ambush set up, the only thing he could do was try and spring it before the attackers were ready. He headed straight for the spot where he'd seen the brief sparkle of light behind a screen of brush. "Dominic, watch the right front. I saw something."

  Sunni Ali saw the Land Rover. No! It was not yet time. He hoped that his men would hold their fire just one more minute. Then it would make no difference.

  The sight of the Land Rover coming straight for them was too much for one young Tuareg. This was his first time on an ambush. Fingers sweating, only his eyes showed the fear and anxiety as the rest of his fourteen year old face was covered by the folds of his veil. He didn't know the exact moment when his finger took up the last of the trigger slack. His rifle suddenly bucked against his shoulder; he had fired. The back of his father's hand knocking him from his horse told him he had screwed up.

  Dominic returned fire with his SMG spraying wildly, not really planning on hitting anything. But it would let the rest of his party know that some shit was going down bad. Gus whipped the wheel around and headed back to the others. Bullets snapped off twigs and branches from the dried brush and several rounds punched holes in the Land Rover.

  Ali was furious. There was nothing else to do now but attack. "Allah akbar!"

  His driver turned out of the wadi, crashing out of the covering of brush they had been using for camouflage. The rest of his men moved at the same time. Horses, half-tracks, and jeeps hit the strip, spreading out in a line from the north end to the south.

  Langer piled everyone back in the Land Rovers. He stood at the end of the LZ trying to wave Parrish off. Gus came screeching up to him.

  "What do we do?" Gus yelled. A half-track with a machine gun was on an intercept course with the Dakota. Behind it were jeeps and another half-track, and now horsemen are corning out of the brush.

  "We have to get the plane back in the air," Langer replied. "If it goes down we're in deep shit. Get it up and we can try for another rendezvous somewhere else."

  Parrish saw the small figure at the end of the runway waving him off. From his open cargo door Monpelier was laying down fire, aiming to the rear over the tail at the pursuing line of Tuaregs. Lines of bullets stitched their way up the side of the plane, their holes letting in the desert light. Parrish estimated the amount of ground he had left: no way to take off again. He'd have to turn around. Rigsby opened his window, pulled a 9 mm Browning out from under his seat, and opened fire, knocking a horseman down.

  Parrish had to brake to turn and as he did he got his first good look at what was coming after him. "I don't think this is going to be a nice day," he quipped.

  Rigsby grunted again and fired off half a clip.

  From their end of the landing zone Langer had the Land Rovers move out after the plane to try and keep the Tuaregs away until it was airborne again.

  Sunni Ali found himself in line with the plane. With a touch of regret he aimed the MG 34 at the cockpit. Plexiglass exploded and Parrish's face became a red mask. Rigsby tried to regain control of the plane but Parrish's body had draped over the yoke. The Dakota went into a spin, angling over sharply till her left wing tip touched down.

  The movement threw Monpelier out the door to hit the dirt, breakin
g his right leg. Cursing in three tongues at his own stupidity for coming on the flight in the first place, he squatted in the dirt, snatched up his BAR, and tried to blow away the man with the MG 34. He didn't make it. The half-track ran over him, treads crushing his chest to the thickness of a pack of smokes.

  When Sunni Ali opened direct fire on the aircraft so did the rest of his men. A tire blew, then thick whisps of black smoke came from the port cowling. Rigsby fought to regain control. He had the plane just about level when the back of his head erupted. Bullets coming through the fuselage flattened out before hitting him. It was just as well. The plane burst into flames only seconds later.

  Langer pulled his men away, angling off to the northwest. There was nothing they could do now. Firing from their windows they punched holes in the Tuareg horsemen. Voorhees took a wild round through his temple. Abdul opened the door and dropped him out. All weapons firing, they broke away. All they could do now was run for it. Langer signaled for Sims to take the lead.

  It was an hour later before they broke contact with the Tuaregs and stopped to gauge their situation. Graves and Kitchner were done for as was the Land Rover they were riding in, taking a barrage of Tuareg fire miles back. Felix had taken one too, catching a round in his back. When Sims got out of the Land Rover he was limping badly, having to hold onto the Land Rover to support his weight. Blood came from his pants leg and a dark spot was spreading at his waist. Gus was about to punch Dominic playfully in the side and started to make some remark. He never finished it. Dominic's face was pale, lips drawn tight.

  "You hit, Dominic?" Gus asked.

  Dominic nodded. Under his right arm, from his side, blood was flowing freely. Gently Gus helped him out of the vehicle. Sims limped over with his medic kit. He and Dominic looked at each other. They knew. After treating Dominic, Sims bandaged himself, took a couple of pain pills, and said flatly, "l think someone else should drive and try to take it easy. Up ahead about thirty kilometers is a narrow mountain pass I do believe we should try and get through it before the bloody madman can have it blocked."