by Barry Sadler
Langer didn't like it at all. He'd seen too many wounds not to know that Sims and Dominic were badly hurt. The Tuaregs had done them good. The plane was gone, its crew was dead. Kicking one of the tires in frustration, he cursed their luck. A thin hiss of steam was coming from one of the Land Rover's radiators. It had been punctured.
There was nothing else to do. "All right, let's load up and try and get some distance between us. Abdul, you take over driving for Sims. I don't know how far this machine is going to go but we can't stop to worry about it. Load up and let's get out of here. Maybe we will make it to the pass."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sims propped his back against a boulder for support. "Listen to me, love. I am the bloody medic, what? I believe that I am the best judge of the current condition of my health. The leg is shattered and I have internal bleeding. Even if there was room, I wouldn't survive the ride back, what with the bumps and all."
Those gathered around him knew he was right. There wasn't really anything that could be said. Sims knew it, too. "Right then, this is how it shall be done," he continued: "I will wait here with one of the machine guns and do a bit of stitching. If nothing else it will buy you a bit more time."
Silently Roman placed his weapon beside the medic, laying several ammo belts where they'd be easy to reach. Sims nodded casually.
Langer looked over his survivors, then at the remaining Land Rover. There was still a problem. Too many people for one vehicle to make it. The extra load would slow them down drastically. Before he could think about it, Sharif Mamud stepped over to sit beside Sims.
"I think that this is a good place, Mr. Sims. Like you, I have no great love for mechanical things. They weary me and put many aches into my ancient bones. I believe I will rest a while with you." He looked up at the canyon walls, raw, ragged, as old as the Sahara. "Yes, this is a good place to rest." He jacked a round into the chamber of his Mats 49 and faced to the south.
There was silence from the group, a feel of awkwardness. No one knew exactly what to say.
Another figure joined the two. Dominic coughed, wiping away a fleck of blood from his lips. He said nothing but his intent was clear. He, too, had picked his time and place to die.
That was enough. Abdul started to step forward. Langer stopped him.
"No more." Abdul's dusty black face began to tighten.
"No more," Langer repeated. "It would serve no purpose save death, and you are not ready. They are. Don't go where you are not wanted, Abdul. This is their moment. Yours will come, but it is not now."
Dominic smiled. "He is right, Abdul. And he may need you later. Get the rest of what you need off the broken Land Rover and put it in the other one. Leave us some ammo and a bit of water. I don't think we will have time to eat dinner. Oh yes, find us some bottles. I know Gus will have a few stashed and we could use a gallon of petrol. That will be all we need. But make it quick." He nodded to the south at a spiral of dust rising around the bend of the canyon.
"You heard him. Let's do it!" Langer commanded, breaking the tension with a direct order. Now there were six: Langer, Abdul, Roman, Gus, and the young couple. It would be crowded but they had a chance if they left now.
To keep Gus from getting too sentimental, Langer had him go to work on storing the extra water and ammo on the remaining vehicle. It was time to leave. If they waited any longer, then they took the chance of losing their only way out.
Moving up to the three, Langer knew that what they were doing was right, and he envied them their death. What more can a man do than pick his time and place to die and know it was right. Dominic had been in the process of dying for a long time. His soul had been leaving him in tiny pieces for years. Sharif Mamud was old, wishing to return to the past of his fathers. This was the place where he belonged. And Sims, well, he was just being practical. If there'd been any other way, he'd have made the little Englishman get back in the Land Rover. But there wasn't. Sims was right. You could see it in his eyes. He was badly hurt. There was no way he could survive the journey back to the Ahaggar Mountains.
The girl and her husband watched in fascination. It was alien to everything they had ever learned. The girl wanted to say something to force Langer into taking them along even if it meant overloading. It wasn't the expression on his face that stopped her words, it was that of the three men. The old Arab, Sims, Dominic, all of them. Their faces were at peace. There was no fear in them. If anything, they looked a bit anxious, as if they wanted the rest of them to get loaded and go away, leaving them to finish their business. Taking her hand, her husband led his wife over to the Land Rover. He said, "I know. Let's just let them do things their way. This has nothing to do with us."
She knew he was right. Even though the three had come to rescue them, it had been for their own reasons. She and her husband had been incidental. For these men it had been just a job.
Gus took the wheel. He and Dominic gave each other a long look. Dominic nodded his head up and down as if to say it's okay, then turned his back on the Land Rover and looked to the south. Gus's face was stone. For once he had no quick words. Carl took the seat beside him. The rest piled in as best they could in the back, Abdul facing out the rear with a rifle.
It was hard to leave them but it had to be done. Fate always dealt all the cards and no matter what kind of hand you held, when she wanted to, she would always win.
That was it. They pulled out, heading deeper into the canyon.
Sunni Ali had his half-track come to a halt. Taking his field glasses he looked ahead. The men he was chasing had cost him much. They were not to be underestimated. Adjusting the focus, he brought the abandoned Land Rover into clear view. The doors were open, the spare fuel cans were gone, no one was in sight. Carefully he scanned the gorge on both sides. Nothing. If they had all transferred into one vehicle then he would catch them. Still he felt uneasy, but there was no time left to play a waiting game. He had to go on.
Behind their cover Dominic finished stuffing rags into the necks of three petrol filled bottles. The half-track would have to pass the Land Rover on the right side. The other side was too rocky. When it did pass and they could hit it with Molotov cocktails, it would block the pass, buying the others a bit more time.
He could see Sunni Ali searching the terrain with his field glasses. Dominic hunched a little lower behind his rock. Patience. They would come to him. The sound of the half-track shifting into gear brought everyone's head up a bit. Sims moved to where he could set the LMG up, using a rock as a bipod. Sharif Mamud stayed where he was. The range would be too far for his SMG to be of much use until the enemy was near the Land Rover. Overhead the sun hammered at them. Flies buzzed trying to suck moisture. Lizards and serpents observed the proceedings with expressionless eyes.
Sunni Ali signaled for his vehicles to move out slowly. The half-track edged closer to the Land Rover. His fingers tightened on the trigger of his MG 34. His eyes were eager. Somehow he knew that there were men in the rocks around him. He couldn't see them, he could feel them. This was a killing zone and he had to go through it. That was good. The tension, the quiet was good. It fed his soul. The Tuaregs sensed his feelings. Their dark eyes also scanned the rocks, hands tightening on their weapons.
The half-track dug its treads into the rocky path, grinding over a road that had once been a trail for caravans. Sunni Ali motioned to the two jeeps behind him. Obeying, the Tuaregs offloaded and spread out, packing the vehicles. If they were ambushed, he didn't want his men bunched up where they could be taken out by a single blow.
"Goddamn that son of a bitch, he must have read my mind," Dominic grumbled to Mamud. He had to choke back a cough. His lungs were filling with heavy black blood, making it even harder to breath in the furnace air of the canyon.
Crawling closer to Sims he whispered, "When they get close enough, Mamud and I will heave the cocktails at the half-track. When we do, lay fire on the Tuaregs out of the jeeps. They'll be the hardest to hit later. Then cut loose on the jeeps and
knock them out. If we can do that, there'll be no way they'll ever catch up to Langer and the others."
"Right you are, love. That's just what we'll do." The sun had reached its apex. Brushing flies away from his mouth and eyes, Sims remarked drolly, "You know, I'll be glad when this is over. It's getting beastly hot. Most uncomfortable."
Mamud and Dominic grinned through cracked lips at the little man's humor. Dominic patted him on the shoulder. "Sims, you might be queer, but you've got more balls than anyone I ever met. It's a pleasure and honor to die with you."
Sims blushed. "Why, thank you, and the feelings are mutual, I assure you. But now we had better keep an eye on those gentlemen below or all our efforts will have been for naught."
He was right. Sunni Ali in his trundling armored beast was almost at the Land Rover.
Flicking his lighter into life, Dominic grinned. "In case I don't have time to say it later, good bye Sims, Sharif Maraud." He lit the gas soaked rags.
"Go with God my friends. Allah maak." Mamud took one of the torches. Dominic lit the last one. Holding one in each hand he peered over the rocks. The half-track was there.
"Now!" Dominic cried, tossing the two petrol bombs in an overhand arc. Mamud followed with his as Sims opened up with the machine gun, sending a stream of bullets out to hunt down the Tuareg flankers.
Sunni Ali saw the fire bombs as they arced in the air, trailing a dark plume of smoke. Without even thinking about it he reacted. Throwing his body out of the half-track on the far side, he hit the ground rolling. He was twenty feet away when the first bomb hit the open back of the half-track, exploding among the men there and setting them on fire.
The next hit the hood of the half-track, bursting into flames. The liquid fire spilled onto the driver, bathing his face in flames. In his pain, he released the steering wheel to tear at his eyes so he could quench the fires eating at them. The half-track rolled up against the Land Rover and ground to a halt. Some of the flames found their way inside the motor, burning wires and melting fuel lines. In seconds the entire machine was on fire.
Only the shotgun rider escaped death. He had covered his eyes with an arm when the bomb exploded. Screaming, he broke out into the open, jumping from the cab and rolling on the ground to smother the fires consuming his robes.
Sims had taken out two of the flankers when he opened fire. The driver of the trailing jeep went instantly into reverse, racing his small machine back behind the cover of the curve in the road. The other was rendered useless by a burst of machine gun rounds to the radiator. It would go no farther.
The Tuaregs had reacted quickly by hitting the deck, seeking cover, and immediately returning fire. Sunni Ali ran from his exposed position by the burning half-track and joined them, taking a rifle from one of his men and giving him his pistol. "Stay with me," he ordered. To the rest he cried, "Spread out and keep firing. Leapfrog forward." To the man with him he asked, "Where is the tube?"
"In the rear jeep, master."
"Go for it. Bring it to me. Run and we will cover you. Listen to me,” he commanded his men. "They are in the rocks to the left of the half-track, about twenty meters up. When I say to fire, aim there even if you can't see anyone. I want you to keep them down. There can't be too many of them." He waited to make certain his words were understood by all.
"Ready. Open fire!"
The Tuaregs cut loose with all they had. Sunni Ali slapped the man on his shoulder. "Go! Now!" The Tuareg obeyed. He hunched over as he raced back to where the rear jeep was sheltered.
Sparks bounced off granite, ricocheting as they sought softer things to touch. One of them buried itself in Sims's good leg, fracturing the femur.
Sims cursed, "Now that tears it! My last good trouser leg shot to hell." He raised up and returned fire, hitting another Tuareg lying in a prone position behind a clump of dried brush. He was right on target. The stream of bullets walked down the man's back, beginning at his neck and ending at his pelvis.
Sunni Ali picked his targets carefully, trying to bounce rounds off the rocks where they would have a chance of hitting the ambushers. A scuffling by his side let him know that his man had returned from the jeep, carrying with him what he had been sent for, an American bazooka and a bag of rockets for it.
From where he was positioned, it would take sheer luck to fire a round that would do much damage, and he didn't have any ammo to waste. He had to get to where he could get a clear shot at them.
"Cover me. Draw their fire. When I move, I want all of you to attack. Move forward to the ditch twenty meters ahead and take cover. When you do, keep firing. I am going to try and get above them."
The Tuaregs moved out, firing as fast as fingers could pull triggers and change magazines. Hundreds of bullets bounced off the rocks, forcing the trio to keep their heads down. Sunni Ali jumped, rolled, crawled, and dodged from one shelter to the next, always heading up, clambering over rocks like a North African mountain goat. He scratched, clawed, and pulled his way over the burning stones till his fingers bled where fingernails had been torn loose.
Three more of his men died in their advance. He was being bled dry. He had to get them now. If he could get back to the jeep with the other radio in it, he could still catch the raiders by calling ahead to have them intercepted.
At last he was above them, resting in a ring of boulders. Peering between two rocks he could see who was holding him up and costing him so many men. There were three of them. It looked like two of them were wounded. He tried to judge the distance and glide factor. He was firing downhill so there wasn't too much to compensate for.
Shoving a round into the tube, he pulled the arming cord on the rocket and set it to his shoulder, making sure the back blast had a free path. He sighted on the target, his eye firmly against the rubber housing of the sight, and pulled the trigger. The rocket left the tube, traveling nearly in a straight line. Dominic saw it coming.
"Take cover!" he cried. He and Sharif Mamud were able to find partial protection but Sims couldn't move. Undaunted, Sims turned his back on the missile heading for him, and calmly shot another Tuareg in the head. At the very same moment the missile struck three feet away from him, tearing his body nearly in half. Splinters hit Sharif Mamud and Dominic.
Another round from Sunni Ali blasted a chunk of meat the size of a pear from Dominic's thigh. He didn't move. Neither did Sharif Mamud. Sunni Ali rose. He couldn't see but he signaled his men to advance. Perhaps one of them was still alive and could be questioned.
Two of his men scrambled up the rocks, leaping over the boulders where the ambushers lay. When the first man came over, Sharif Mamud rose with his knife in his hand crying "Allah akbar" and sunk it to the hilt in the man's chest. Reaching the heart, he tore it in half. The other Tuareg shot the old man in the throat, then crawled over him in time to meet Dominic coming up from behind his rock on one knee, pistol in his hand. He and the Tuareg fired at the same time. Sunni Ali could see the bullets strike as puffs of dust rose from their bodies. Both went down.
Leaving the bazooka, Sunni Ali climbed down to examine them. He had an urge to look at them up close. Once he was on the same level with them he strode over to examine them, his robes flowing loose in the dry breeze. One at a time he turned each of the bodies over to look at the faces. First was the old Arab. He didn't know him, but vaguely wondered why one so old would go on such a hard mission. Next was the small man with the soft face and delicate hands. He had fought well. His body seemed even smaller close up. There was something about death that lessens one. There was also the dark one which his man had shot, putting at least four rounds in the chest and stomach. It had slammed him up against a boulder. Sliding off it, he had gone to his knees, face to the earth like a good Moslem at his prayers.
Stepping over the body of Sims, he saw that his rocket shell had torn a hole the size of man's fist in the other man's body. There were also several holes where bullets had exited. The blood was already turning dark brown as it dried. Flies had begun to gathe
r in swarms on the dead men's wounds, forming black moving clots.
Sunni Ali bent over to grab the dark man by his tunic. He wanted to see this one's face, also. It was important to him to see each of them in order to understand why they had chosen to stand and die, for surely they had known that death would be their fate.
Shoving the body to where it would roll over on its side, Sunni Ali tried to jerk back his hand instinctively but it was caught. Held.
Dominic pulled Sunni Ali to the earth with him. His face was covered with a fine layer of dust. Blood mottled and dried on cracked lips, he was a picture of hell. He had the face of a djinn or a madman. Only his eyes were sane. He held Sunni Ali close to his face, holding him down under him. Sunni Ali yelled for help as he struck at his captor's face with his fist. The creature holding him laughed, hacking out blood clots from his ruptured lungs.
Sunni Ali had one quick look before he felt a strange, hard weight on his chest. The creature had stuffed a hand grenade in his jellaba. Frantic, he tried to gouge out the devil's eyes. But it would not let go. He had only seconds before the grenade would explode. His hand slid his curved dagger from its ornate sheath held in the waistband of his robes. Once! Twice! A third time he sank the knife full to its hilt in the maniac's side, back, and neck, but still it would not let go.
Their time was up. Dominic's hands loosened a split second before the blast. He smiled at Sunni Ali, who had begun his prayer. "Allah is God, the only God, and Mohammed is His prophet" He never finished. The grenade ended his pleas.
The muffled sounds of fighting followed them through the pass. The survivors avoided each other's eyes. Gus drove on, stone faced. They would not stop till they reached Fort Laperrine in the Ahaggar Mountains. There wasn't anything back there to wait for.
