Sands of Destiny

by E. C. Tubb

  A shout echoed his words. A deep-chested roar of approval and, as he heard it, the Mullah whitened a little then spoke to the Sheiks around him.

  “Peace,” intoned El Morini. “The time is not yet. I....”

  “The time is now,” howled a hill man, his eyes glaring with hate. “Death to the unbelievers! Death to the Ferengi! Death! Death! Death!”

  Others took up the shout and a Berber, his mouth writhing as if he were in a fit, waved his Jezail and screamed at the top of his voice for the attack to begin—now.

  For a moment it seemed as if the crowd would get out of control, maddened as it was with hate and blood lust then, as the Mullah stepped forward and raised his voice in the call to prayer, their religion calmed them and they knelt to face Mecca.

  But Corville knew that the seed he had sown must blossom or the Sheiks would lose their control over the impatient tribesmen.

  “In three days time,” intoned the Mullah after the ritual prayers and before the Arabs could become excited again, “the moon will be nearing its death. In the darkness of the night we shall march to the attack. Marojia shall fall and give us many guns and weapons of destruction. Marojia shall arm the faithful and, with those guns, we can sweep down on the Ferengi city of Sidi bel Abbes.” He writhed as if in a fit and froth appeared at the comers of his mouth. “I have been granted a vision,” he shrieked. “Lo, I stood at the foot of a mountain and beside me, shining with the grace of Allah, a tall being said unto me, “This is the task I set you. While this mountain is here none can enter Paradise for it bars the way to righteousness. Destroy it. Sweep it aside and the Houris shall welcome those who struggle for God with open arms and warm caresses. That mountain, O sons of the desert, was the infidel. Shall we destroy that mountain?”

  Corville shouted as loud as the rest, screaming with pretended hysteria, knowing that to assume indifference was to invite comment, examination, and death. Gradually, as the Arabs screamed and cheered, he worked his way out of the crowd and back towards the shelter of the palms. Smith came with him, the scarred face of the sergeant tense beneath the strain and, as they stepped into darkness, gripped Corville’s arm.

  “Marojia! In three days time they leave to attack Marojia.”

  “As we expected.” Corville bit his lower lip. “How to warn them and, at the same time, let Colonel Le Farge know where the reinforcements are wanted? He swore as he thought about it. “Sacré Bleu! How?”

  “The Sheik Ali ben Sirdir is leaving for Sidi bel Abbes tomorrow,” said Smith. “If....”

  “I can’t go with him,” interrupted Corville. “If I do then you will have to come with me....” He nodded and stared at the sergeant. “Listen. You will accompany the Sheik to headquarters. Take the American with you. He is supposed to be insane and I will tell the Sheik that I am sending him there for treatment. That could be true, there is a Holy Man at Sidi bel Abbes who is supposed to have great skill in the care and treatment of those who are wards of Allah. You will go with him, both to take care of him and then to tell Le Farge what we know. I will take the women and leave for Marojia tonight. With luck I shall be able to arrive long before the tribesmen.”

  “Don’t rely on that,” snapped the sergeant. “The tribesmen will travel at least twice as fast as you can, hampered as you will be with the women and slow camels. If you had horses now....”

  “No. It would be out of character and, more important, I doubt if I could obtain enough horses to carry all we need. Horses need water and I want to avoid the water holes. With camels I can carry enough water to do the entire journey without touching an oasis. I will move slower, true, but I shall have three days’ start and should be able to get there in time to warn the garrison.” His face hardened. “The Arabs will get a surprise when they commence their night attack. Now we know what we’re up against we can more than hold our own.”

  Smith nodded then frowned as he mentally calculated times and distances.

  “Sidi bel Abbes is nearer than Marojia. With a forced march the reinforcements should be able to get from there to Marojia in....” He bit his lip as he arrived at the answer. “Can the garrison hold out for very long?”

  “They’ll hold out,” promised Corville grimly. “Now to arrange matters with the Sheik.” He glanced at the stars. “I’ll attend to that while you collect the camels, water and food, and some rugs. Don’t worry about tents, we won’t need them. I want to travel as light and as fast as possible. Hurry now.”

  He watched the sergeant vanish towards the town and then went to see the old Sheik.

  It took the subtle bribe of a pair of automatic pistols, together with ammunition for same. It took care and appeals to religion, lies and false desperation, guile and hair-trigger matching of wits and guessing at the old man’s feelings. It took endless cups of coffee, a full dinner, the ritual of feasting and the nerve-tearing restraint of impatience. It took time, five hours of time but, at the end, Ali ben Sirdir agreed to provide the sergeant and the afflicted one with some horses, an escort, and provisions for the journey to Sidi bel Abbes. More than that, he agreed, because of certain astronomical influences that would aid in the treatment of the supposedly insane man, to get him to the city as fast as possible.

  This was better luck than Corville had hoped for and, as he relayed the news to Smith, he gave final instructions.

  “Travel as fast as you can, make a race of it, anything, but get there. I’ve written a note for the Colonel so that he will know that you are to be trusted. Tie Dick in the saddle if you have to and don’t forget that these tribesmen are both natural born riders and proud of their skill. Wager that you can beat them to the city, set a time limit, use your own discretion, but hurry!”

  “Yes, sir.” Smith hesitated. “And you?”

  “I’ll take the women to Marojia as planned. We leave in less than an hour but I can’t hasten things any faster without causing suspicion. You get away before anything happens to delay you. Get the news to Le Farge and tell him to send reinforcements to the arsenal town.” Corville slapped the man on the shoulder. “We’ll meet again when this is over and split a bottle of wine to celebrate. Alors! On route, mon vieux. Vite!”

  “Yes, sir.” Smith still hesitated. “Take care of yourself—son.”

  Before Corville could reply the scarred veteran had ridden away into the night.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MAROJIA

  MAROJIA, like Fort Onassis, was a low, thick-walled, mud-brick fortress with high parapets and the slender towers of two watch-posts rearing high above the compound. Unlike Onassis it was surrounded by the featureless desert instead of rocky hills and, guarded as it was with a full complement of legionnaire, it was considered impregnable. Here were stored the arms of the Legion, the Lebels and ammunition, the bayonets, the field mortars, the pistols and sabres for the mounted Spahis and the all too rare machineguns with their belts of ammunition.

  Corville smiled as he saw it, resting on the foremost camel and twisting to smile at Clarice and Miss Carson on the other.

  “See? Marojia. We’ve arrived in time.”

  “Is that Marojia?” Clarice frowned. “I thought that there would be a town nearby or an oasis. Surely Marojia is more than just a fort?”

  “The oasis lies ten kilometres to the North together with the native town. You would have gone there had you been able to follow your original plans, but we are headed for the fort,” He goaded the camel as he spoke and they slowly wended their way down the rolling dunes towards the high gates. A harsh challenge met them just as they came within rifle range.

  “Qui va là? Who goes there?”

  “Lieutenant de Corville of the garrison at Fort Onassis,” shouted Corville in French. Quickly he identified himself and the two women then waited impatiently for the heavy wooden gates to swing open. Inside the fort he breathed a sigh of relief and handed the reins of the camels to a legionnaire.

  “Where is your commander?”

  “Colonel Marignay is away
with a company of men. Lieutenant Delmar has been left in command.”

  “What!” Corville stared at the legionnaire. “Did you say that Colonel Marignay was in command?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see.” The young officer bit his lips then hastened in search of the lieutenant. Delmar soon explained what had happened.

  “The Colonel arrived here weeks ago. He said that he had been out riding and, when he returned to Fort Onassis, he found it under attack. To save his life and to obtain help, he rode away with the Toureg at his heels. He barely managed to escape with his life. As senior officer he naturally took command. Colonel Wellman was sick with fever, he’s dead now, and permitted the Colonel to take over until orders came from Sidi bel Abbes.” Delmar frowned. “It is strange, now that I come to think of it. There have been no messages from headquarters, not even in reply to those which have been sent. The journey is long, I know, but I should have had an answer before now.”

  “Your messengers are dead,” said Corville grimly. “The desert is alive with Arabs and they will kill everyone connected with the Legion on sight.” Irritably he slammed the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. “Sacré! How many men are left in the fort?”

  “A bare company.” Delmare shrugged at the expression on Corville’s face. “What could I do? Marignay was in command and he took the rest of the men with him into the desert. He said that be had received information as to a threatened attack and wanted to forestall it by attacking the raiders before they were prepared.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “I see.” Corville nodded, his mind busy with thoughts.

  It was too obvious now that he had all the evidence. Marignay had obviously sold out to the Sheik El Morini, taking gold and his life in exchange for the guns and ammunition at Fort Onassis. Now, not content with what he had gained, he had taken more bribes to empty the arsenal of men so that the massed tribes would find an easy victory.

  Or perhaps Marignay was more deeply involved than anyone guessed, Perhaps he had not only agreed to remain inactive, but had taken an active part in the uprising. It would be a simple matter for him to teach the Arabs the rudiments of modern war and, with his training, he could lay plans for the Sheiks to slash their way through the desert and down to the sea. Fool or not, self-seeker or merely money-hungry, Marignay was a traitor and deserved to die, but first Corville knew that Marojia had to be made safe from attack.

  Quickly he informed the young lieutenant what he had learned.

  “The tribes left Sidi Baba about three days after I did. They must have made up that time since then. It is imperative that we ready ourselves for an attack that may come at any moment. I have sent word to Sidi bel Abbes, but, just in case anything has happened to my messenger, you must also send the warning. Have you men you can trust who will volunteer?”

  “Yes.” Delmar looked at Corville. “We are of equal rank you and I, and yet you have had more experience in the ways of these devils. Will you take command of the fort while I, and two others, attempt to get through to the garrison at El Hish. There is a small company there and we could be back within ten days. At the same time I will dispatch two men to Sidi bel Abbes. They may get through and then again they may not. Well?”

  “You are wise. The garrison at El Kish, how many men?”

  “A company of Spahis. They know me and I know their officer. They would not desert their post for any other man.”

  Corville nodded and, when the officer had left on his desperate journey, settled down to prepare the fort against attack. Remembering Onassis he made the men draw and store all the water they could. Before the gates, well away from the walls but near enough to be in sight, he planted crude mines made of sticks of dynamite fastened together and with a fuse leading into the fort. Other sticks he fashioned into crude bombs, then, when he had done all he could think of, he let the men rest and drink, eat and sleep as much as possible. For once in the fortress discipline was relaxed and the men, knowing what was in the wind, took advantage of the relaxation to get the sleep they would be missing later on.

  The attack, when it came, followed the same pattern as at Fort Onassis.

  Corville was dining with Clarice and Miss Carson, forcing himself to eat and to relax against the time he knew was coming. Clarice smiled at him, resting her hand on his and, despite his apprehensions, Corville thrilled to the touch. He was in love with the girl, he knew it, but he knew too that love had no place in his life, not until....

  “What made you join the Foreign Legion?” Clarice smiled at the elderly woman who, taking the hint, retired to her room. “Was it because of your father?”

  “You know?” Strangely he was not displeased. It would save so much explanation. Clarice nodded.

  “Miss Carson told me. She remembered you, you know that?”

  “She as good as said as much at Fort Onassis.”

  “Yes, and she has remembered more since then. She told me about your father, how he renounced his title and ran away. It was a pity really, because he was not to blame for what happened. But I suppose that Lord Trehern had his pride and could not bear to be accused of company mismanagement.”

  She gripped his hand. “Are you trying to find him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when you do?”

  “I don’t know.” He drew a deep breath, “My mother and father separated, you know that, but she is as much in love with him now as the day they married. He could not bear to see her suffer because of what he had done. He settled what money he could on her, then, to avoid publicity, ran away. I believe that he joined the Légion Étrangers and, hoping to find him, I joined it too.”

  “And have you found him?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, thinking of the sergeant and of their last parting. He thought of something else too, the grim stubbornness with which the scarred man had stayed at his side and, when be had been rescued, he had a dim recollection of someone, it could have been Smith calling him by his Christian name.

  “Qui va là?” The harsh challenge was drowned by the sound of shots and, as the spiteful sound cut through the night air, the dreaded yelling of the charging Arabs made the night hideous with sound.

  “Allah il Allah! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

  Corville sprang from the table, snatching at his pistol and running to direct the fire from the walls. Arabs swarmed all over the desert, thousands of them, and, as the legionnaires fired and fired and fired again, it almost seemed as if they would crush the fort by sheer weight of numbers. Corville jerked a soldier away from a machinegun, cleared the stoppage with which the man had been struggling, and, traversing the heavy barrel, poured lead into the horde of white burnoosed shapes before him.

  Other machine guns joined in, some falling silent as Arab snipers sent leaden death winging towards the gunners, but all resumed their stutter, sending streams of tracer bullets from the walls into the desert.

  Abruptly the Arabs were gone, running towards the shelter of the dunes and the legionnaires laughed as they sent a desultory fire after them.

  Corville did not laugh. Still smarting from his experience at Fort Onassis he knew that the unknown genius behind the uprising would not have sent his men to certain death without knowing what he was doing. True, more than a quarter of the garrison had died during the attack and the rest couldn’t hold out forever, but, protected as they were by the thick walls, with ample guns and ammunition, they would wreck terrible havoc on the attackers before finally destroying the arsenal.

  Corville frowned as he stared into the darkness. Shapes littered the desert, pale splotches in the night and, as he stared at them, he blinked and rubbed his eyes.

  “Legionnaire.”

  “Yes, sir?” A grinning Spaniard stepped forward and saluted. Corville pointed towards the desert.

  “Those shapes down there, can you see them move?”

  “Dead men move, my lieutenant? Impossible!”
>
  “Did I say that they were dead?” said Corville harshly. “Careful, man. Watch what you’re doing!”

  The Spaniard shrugged and stepping carelessly onto the firing platform, sprinted into the night. Fire winked at him, a pinpoint of red flame and, with a choked sound, he felt backwards, a red-rimmed hole between his eyes. Corville swore and shouted orders.

  “Fire the fuse. Legionnaires! Fire at every shape you see, alive or dead. Vite!”

  He guessed what was happening. The attack had merely been designed to cover the infiltration of the sappers. They had fallen as if shot and, when the attackers had left, had remained behind to set their charges and destroy the gates as at Fort Onassis. But for Corville the plan would have worked with similar results.

  As the legionnaires fired their long Lebels at the huddled shapes below, most of their bullets hitting dead men but a few thudding into living flash, the mines Corville had laid exploded with a thundering wash of flame. Screams followed it, the shrieks of crippled and maimed Arabs and, on the sands below, broken shapes stumbled in a desperate endeavour to escape the withering fire from above.

  Abruptly the night was torn with fire and lead. Four machineguns opened up from the surrounding dunes and four streams of bullets traced their fiery path towards the parapets. Men died beneath that leaden hail, cursing as they tried to silence the terrible weapons, and the firing platforms of the fort ran red with blood. Something traced a path of fire in the heavens, seemed to blossom into a luminous cloud, and suddenly the fort was brilliantly lit from a hovering flare in the sky which turned night into day.

  “Very pistols,” groaned Corville. “With those magnesium flares they can stay in darkness and see everything we do.”

  Grimly he gave orders for the men to stay behind cover, crouching, unable to do the attackers any harm, while the Arabs crawled closer and closer to the undermanned fort.