Sèvres Protocol
Page 26
The private squeezed the trigger on the machinegun. The burst of fire lit up the surrounding area and Coyle as he collapsed and hit the ground. “Oh, now I see him,” said the corporal. “Nice shot.”
“I’m not sure I hit him,” said the private.
“What do you mean? He fell.”
“Yeah, but he fell just as I fired. I’m not sure it was me that did it.”
“Well who else would it be?”
“I don’t know. People fall sometimes.”
“We can’t just leave him out there if you’re not sure you killed him.”
“Yeah, well… I ain’t sure.”
“Go check him out.”
“Me?”
“You shot him… or didn’t shoot him. Go check him out. He’s your kill. You’ll be fine. I’ll cover you.”
“What if he’s still alive?”
“He’s an Arab. Shoot him.”
“Alright,” said the private picking up his rifle and walking out into the desert.
He walked over with his gun pointed at Coyle. There was no movement. He poked Coyle’s side. Coyle grunted. “He’s still alive,” he yelled back to the corporal.
“So, shoot him,” said the corporal.
The private took aim. Coyle groaned and rolled over. The private looked down at his face. He was Caucasian. “I don’t think he’s Egyptian,” yelled the private.
“Well what is he?”
“English, maybe French.”
“Oh, shit,” said the corporal. “Don’t shoot him.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. What should I do with him?”
“Take him prisoner.”
“Prisoner?”
“Yeah. Until we know where he’s from. But don’t shoot him.”
“I’m not gonna shoot him.”
The private knelt down. He saw the pistol in Coyle’s waistband and took it. “Hey, wake up,” he said. “Ya gotta wake up.”
Coyle stirred. He looked up at the private. “Israeli?”
“Yeah. You?”
“American.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. You got some water?”
The private took his canteen and gave Coyle some water. Coyle drank and coughed as the water hit his parched throat. “How the hell did you end up in the Sinai?” said the private.
“Plane crashed. Got shot down.”
“Egyptian?”
“Israeli.”
“Oops.”
“Yeah… oops. There are survivors. They need help.”
“Alright.”
“I also have a friend. My navigator. He needs help.”
“Where is he?” said the private.
Coyle motioned in the direction he came. “Alright. We can send a patrol out to find him. Let’s get you to the medic first, okay?”
“No. Send help first.”
“We’re gonna send help but you gotta show us where he is on a map. The plane crash too.”
Coyle nodded. “Can you walk?” said the private.
“I don’t know. I think so.”
The private helped Coyle to his feet and they walked back to the outpost together.
Three hours later, an Israeli patrol with three jeeps rode across the desert. Coyle was in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle. He spotted the rock outcropping where he had left the navigator and led the driver to it.
Coyle climbed from the jeep and moved to the boulder. The navigator laid motionless with his back to Coyle. “Wake up. I brought help just like I said I would. I’ve got water and a medic,” said Coyle.
The navigator did not respond. Coyle was afraid. Coyle gently rolled him over. It was too late. The navigator was dead. “God damn it you stupid Spaniard. You weren’t supposed to die. I brought help just like I said I would. I kept my word,” said Coyle. “I wish I could remember your name.”
Coyle wept. The Israelis covered his body with a blanket and placed him in the jeep.
November 6, 1956 - Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt
Sharon was writing a report while sipping his morning coffee in a café by the ocean. He was pissed that his brigade had not captured the city of Sharm el-Sheikh. He tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter which brigade took the city but it did matter… a lot. His radio operator approached sheepishly. “What is it?” said Sharon, curt.
“The American. They found him,” said the radio operator.
“You mean they found his body,” said Sharon.
“No. I mean they found him. He’s alive. I must have gotten the message mixed up or something. He wasn’t dead. He just wasn’t among the survivors. He had gone for help.”
“So, where the hell is he?”
“In a Mash unit in Arish. He was pretty banged up.”
Sharon jumped up, kissed the radio operator on the forehead and went off in search of Brigitte.
November 6, 1956 – Sinai Desert, Egypt
Coyle laid on a bed in a medical tent. There were dozens of wounded Israeli soldiers around him. An IV dripped fluid into his arm rehydrating his body. He had slept for twelve hours. He had nightmares of the cobra striking again and again. He finally woke and stared at the ceiling of the tent. It was hot and the smell in the tent was foul – a mixture of formaldehyde and urine.
Brigitte entered the tent. She saw him and ran to his side. They hugged and kissed. The kiss on his cracked lips was painful but Coyle didn’t care. He was just happy to see her again. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just a little dehydrated,” said Coyle.
“I came as soon as I could. I had to bribe my way on to a transport plane.”
“How’d you do that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I suppose I don’t.”
“You were shot down?”
“Yeah. One more crash landing for my log book.”
“You poor dear. They found the wreckage and the survivors.”
“I heard.”
“You saved their lives.”
“No. I didn’t. They found them before they found me. Good thing too. They wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”
“I was told two men went with you into the desert.”
“Yeah. They were Spaniards. Part of my crew. They died.”
“Oh God. I’m so sorry.”
“Ain’t your fault. I’m the one that couldn’t save them.”
“But you tried, right?”
“They were my responsibility and I failed.”
“I know you. You did your best.”
“I did what I could. It wasn’t enough. They were good men.”
“The doctor said you’re gonna have to stay in bed for a couple of days.”
“Yeah. They wanna poke me and prod me some more. Makes ’em feel useful.”
“I can’t stay long. The French and the British are preparing to invade.”
“What in the hell is that about?”
“I’ll explain everything when it’s all over. In the meantime, you rest.”
“Are you going to find Bruno?”
“If I can, yes. I think he’s on Malta with his brigade.”
“Tell him I said hello.”
“Of course. You know you have nothing to worry about with Bruno and I.”
“I’m not worried. You’re just good friends,” said Coyle, lying.
“That’s right. Just friends. I feel safe with him.”
“Then I say stay close to him. He’ll protect you. When do you have to go?”
“I still have a few hours.”
Coyle smiled and said, “Good. I missed you.”
“Me too,” said Brigitte kissing him on the forehead. “We should take some time when we get back to Paris… to talk.”
“That’d be nice.”
Coyle was relaxed and dozed off. Brigitte watched him sleep. They were safe… for now.
THE END OF PART ONE
LETTER TO READER
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed
Sèvres Protocol as much I enjoyed writing it. The next book in the Airmen series is “Operation Revise.”
In the meantime, if you are so inclined, I would really appreciate a review of Sèvres Protocol. Loved it, hated it, I’d benefit from your feedback. It makes me a better writer and, honestly, if it’s a positive review, it helps promote the book. Reviews are hard to come by these days and now more than ever, potential readers use them in their decision-making process. You, the reader, have the power to make or break a book.
Just click on the cover of Sèvres Protocol on Amazon and you will find the reviews button under the yellow stars. Once you land on the reviews page you can select the Write a Customer Review button and you are ready to write your review. It’s pretty simple. And if you want to write a review on a different site, like Goodreads, well that is appreciated too. Thank you for your consideration and I hope to hear from you.
In gratitude,
David Lee Corley
Author’s Biography
Born in 1958, David grew up on a horse ranch in Northern California, breeding and training appaloosas. He has had all his toes broken at least once and survived numerous falls and kicks from ornery colts and fillies. David started writing professionally as a copywriter in his early 20’s. At 32, he packed up his family and moved to Malibu, California to live his dream of writing and directing motion pictures. He has four motion picture screenwriting credits and two directing credits. His movies have been viewed by over 50 million movie-goers worldwide and won a multitude of awards, including the Malibu, Palm Springs, and San Jose Film Festivals. In addition to his 23 screenplays, he has written three novels. He developed his simplistic writing style after rereading his two favorite books, Ernest Hemingway’s “The Old Man and The Sea” and Cormac McCarthy’s “No Country For Old Men.” An avid student of world culture, David lived as an expat in both Thailand and Mexico. At 56, he sold all his possessions and became a nomad for four years. He circumnavigated the globe three times and visited 56 countries. Known for his detailed descriptions, his stories often include actual experiences and characters from his journeys. He loves to paint the places he has visited and the people he has met in both watercolor and oil. His paintings make great Christmas presents, though his three children may beg to differ.