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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 in-juries 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
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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, pathet-ically 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 si-lently 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 grum-bling, 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, rock-ing 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 Mos-lem 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. Can-teens 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 change, becoming less and less until they are no
more."
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