than you would believe, I know.'
Sharif Mamud watched the face of his companion. Softly he touched the scar-faced man's arm. 'Yes, I do think you understand.'
Gus had sent out the sentries, Stachel and Sims taking first watch. The temperature was dropping quickly. It would be a long, cold night but Carl had known nights longer and colder. He would survive.
Roman and Dominic had drawn the last watch. At first light they roused the rest of the team. Carl gave permission for a hot meal to be fixed if they used the sterno stove. If anyone was watching, in a few minutes the movements of the Land Rovers pulling out would give their position away anyway, so it didn't make much difference.
When they finished eating he ordered them to sterilize the area. All trash was to be put in the Land Rovers and any sign of their night in the wadi to be erased as much as possible. It was, of course, impossible to completely wipe out their presence, but he didn't want to give anything away about their numbers if he didn't have to.
When they cleaned up he told them: 'Get out the gear and divide up the heavy stuff. Everyone shares the load. Weapons on safety till I say otherwise. I don't want any accidental shots going off this early in the game.'
This was the quiet time, when weapons and ammo were distributed. Jokes stopped as the tools of battle were put into their new master's hands: grenades, clips of ammo, magazines, battle dressings, and rations. Roman took the 30 cal light machine gun with the shoulder stock and bipod, with Abdul acting as his loader. Between them they divided up the machine gun ammo. They were ready now, waiting for the word from Langers.
'All right, this is how it plays. Sims, I want you, Graves, and Felix to take the Land Rovers and head back north around Baguezane.' On their map he pointed to the location he wanted them to reach. 'I want you to be at this point in Mt. Baguezane, where the letter 'E' is on the map. We'll make radio contact with you when we've got the hostages and it's time to move out. We'll need you to be on time if we're going to break contact with the Tuaregs and make it to the LZ where Parrish is to pick us up. Stay away from anyone you see — nomads, goatherds, tourists. Don't let anybody get close to you. If Sunni Ali has word about our geological expedition, I don't want him to get a different count on the number of men involved with it. He's probably going to be suspicious anyway if he just hears of a couple of ferengi vehicles roaming around the desert within a hundred miles of him. I would be.'
Sims interjected, 'Wouldn't it be best, love, if I went with the main party? You might have need of my tender touch, wouldn't you now?'
Carl shook his head. 'No. I want you with the Land Rovers. I told you before that anyone who couldn't keep up was dead meat. Any minor injuries we'll be able to deal with. Anything major and you wouldn't have time to treat it anyway. I want you where I know you'll be able to help after we make the raid.'
Sims pouted a bit. 'Well, if that's the way you want it, love, then that's the way it'll be. But do try to get as many back to me as possible. I have grown attached to you bleeding rotters just a bit, you know?'
Carl walked them over to the Land Rovers.
'We'll be on the radios at 1200 hours and again at 1800 hours every day. Captain Parrish will choose one or the other of those times to make a radio link to you. So keep your ears on them. In the mountains we might have some trouble with communication but don't worry about it. Once we're on the western slope we should have no problems. However, if by the fourth night you don't hear from us, get out. Make your way back to Fort Laperrine or into Mali.'
Felix showed no sign of emotion. If anything he felt a touch of relief. He knew that he, Graves, and Sims had the best chance of living out the week, and one did not question providence when it worked in your favor.
A wind was starting to rise. Carl looked to the south. 'Good, that will help cover our tracks and those of the Land Rovers. That's it. Get going and good luck.'
Sims led the way in the head vehicle. It was going to be a long drive. The rest of the team watched the Land Rovers disappear from sight, then turned to look toward Mt. Baguezane.
'Get your gear on,' Carl instructed. 'From this time on there will be patrol discipline. No smoking because someone will leave butts lying around. If you eat, put the wrappings back in your packs. Leave nothing on the ground, and stay out of your canteens. We'll all drink at the same time and the same amount. Sharif Mamud says there are water holes up there, but no one knows for certain. If you run out then you go dry, for I'll let no man give another any from his share — think about it. Now let's form up, we have a lot of distance to cover.'
He turned things over to Sharif Mamud who took point, taking the first steps to guide them through the labyrinths of gullies, canyons, and crevices that was Mt. Baguezane. They weren't much as far as numbers went: ten men in single file. They began the long climb to the pass which Sharif Mamud said waited for them at the 7,000 -foot level.
Once they hit the trail Sharif Mamud wanted, Carl had him point out the way. Then he moved back from the point and turned it over to Dominic. As they climbed Dominic set a good pace, not too fast not too slow. Carl tried to get a feel for their rate of movement. They probably would be on the way down before their legs got used to the strain.
After an hour's climb Langers stopped on a cliff, looking back down to the desert. Heat waves rose and wavered as far as the eye could see. Sand dunes were broken by reefs of stone beds worn smooth by the passing of centuries. Squinting his eyes, miles away he saw a thin tendril of dust rising into the air, then another, and another. The Land Rovers, most likely.
After the first hour they had switched off on point, giving each a chance to set the pace. Breathing was heavy and hard. Even as they climbed it didn't seem any cooler. The rocks were hot enough to cook meat on. Thin patches of scrub brush poked out between granite boulders, pathetically seeking enough moisture to sustain life.
Sharif Mamud held up better than most of the others. His body was acclimated to the desert heat. Steadily and with sure feet he climbed silently now as they moved up the narrow trails to the pass. The rest of them were quiet except for gasps of labored breathing. Flies had come to buzz over them, swarming on their backs to suck at the salty sweat that had begun to turn their tunics white, adding a lighter pattern to the brown and green camouflage.
All breaks were set by Sharif Mamud. Only he knew how long it would actually take to reach their kickoff point. The team did well, no grumbling, no bitching; they had settled in. Once more Monpelier had proved his accurate judgment of men. They all helped each other, giving someone a hand or taking a load from another over the rough spots.
At midday they rested, taking shelter in the shade of sun-splintered boulders. They would wait now for a few hours and try to sleep. Most put scarves around their faces, leaving only their eyes uncovered. Exposed skin drew the flies.
Sharif Mamud squatted on his haunches, rocking back and forth for a time as though trying to reconcile great problems. It was in these lands that the great philosophers and prophets of the Moslem world had been inspired. Here where the supernatural djinns of the desert and God were always close at hand, to touch them one had only to reach out and feel the wind.
When the sun began its descent they moved once more. Loads became heavier with each kilometer. With the dark Sharif Mamud took the lead again, guiding the way through gullies and canyons that he had not seen in forty years. They were still fresh in his mind and here nothing had changed. They would march all night. It would be easier to keep warm that way and once they set foot on Baguezane, Carl would permit no fires. When they stopped it would be a cold camp.
Near midnight Mamud called a halt. Gratefully men slid to the earth, easing the pack straps from sore shoulders. Boots were taken off and feet rubbed to rid them of the thousands of tiny grains of sand that had worked their way inside. Canteens were drunk from sparingly, though each man wanted to open his throat and let the water flow. Some opened cans of fruit to suck at the sweetness of tinned peaches or pears.
Sharif Mamud ate nothing and only once had Carl seen him take a small drink of water. He knew it was the barren rocks and dry winds which fed something deep inside the old man and gave him strength. Carl came to sit beside him while Egon and Gus stood watch, one at each end of the trail.
Sharif Mamud stared into the distance. His nostrils flared, breathing in the cool air.
'What do you see in the night, old one?'
Mamud didn't move.
'I see the past and the present. I see times yet to come when my people will be lost. Bit by bit they will
