Casca 16: Desert Mercenary (11 page)

From his outriders Sunni Ali knew the exact position and direction the Land Rovers were taking. On his map he began to rule out possibilities of escape. Giving it some thought, he tried to figure out what he would do if he was given the assignment the raiders were on.

The most likely choice of options would be for the raiders to meet with the Land Rovers at a given spot and then make it to someplace a plane could set down to fetch them. Checking his map again against his memory of the area, he touched a spot with his fingernail. "It will be here, and I will be waiting for them."

Felix spotted them first, coming out of the rocks. "There they are!" he cried out. Sims had his kit in hand, ready to take care of any wounds.

Langer
was in the lead. He waved Sims back. "No time for that shit now. We have company tailing us. Let's get loaded and get out of here. No one is hurt too badly. Mostly just blisters and sunburn."

Under the coating of fine dust it was hard to tell how badly anyone was sunburned. They all looked the same.

"Sims, I want you and the others to keep driving. You know what the ground is like better than we do. Just get us to the LZ. Monpelier did get the signal, didn't he?"

Sims answered him dryly, slightly offended at the implied question of his competence. "Of course I did. And if I have it timed right, they should be over the LZ within minutes of our own arrival."

"Good. Now let's get gone."

Langer
put the girl and her husband in the same Land Rover with Gus. The rest of the crew just climbed gratefully into the vehicles wherever there was room. It was with no regrets that they were leaving Baguezane behind them. They'd had enough of the mountain and were quite content to leave it to the lizards, snakes, and vultures.

It looked as though they might have had it made, but Carl still didn't like the feeling of being herded. "Sims, where was the last
place you saw riders?"

"Oh, about twenty
kilometers from here. They were heading southwest away from me. Probably just a caravan of some sort, though I was a bit concerned for a time. They were the third group I had seen since yesterday. Why, do you think they're trouble?"

Carl leaned his head back against the seat, trying to ignore the jolting of the Land Rover as Sims
maneuvered it between, over, and around obstacles. "I don't know and that's what bothers me," he admitted. "Those Tuaregs should have been more confused, more disoriented. We hit them pretty hard. Caught them with their pants down. But they came back just as hard, and fast, too. Very professional. They didn't act like nomads. They responded like regular army troops, and damned good ones. We were lucky to get out with no more losses. Very lucky."

Closing his eyes he made one last comment. "Try to keep this thing level. I'm going to try and get some shut eye. Wake me if you see anything or if we get within five
kilometers of the LZ."

"Right, love.
You got it."

Three dust trails marked their passage as they raced across the scrublands to where the plane would come to get them. Somehow it didn't seem possible that all this had started just a short time before. It seemed much longer than that.

Monpelier
leaned over between Parrish and Rigsby. "How much longer?"

Parrish checked his watch. "About an hour, give or take five minutes."

Sunni Ali was ready. The timing was nearly perfect. His horsemen and his vehicles awaited his command. Hidden behind rocks and in
wadis, they had camouflaged their positions very carefully, especially so as not to be seen from the air. If the pilot was worth a damn, he would make at least one quick flight over to check out the area. Ali had reason to be satisfied. He had called the progression of the game perfectly. A bit of pressure here, a touch there, nothing too sinister, but it did force them to reveal what he wished to know. That and the process of elimination gave him the location of the landing zone.

He had kept just enough pressure on the raiders to make them believe they had the edge, but not enough to waste any time. They would be anxious to get away. He knew he could have forced the issue at any time, but he wanted to see if he was right. Now the Land Rovers were at the end of what would be the LZ, a lake bed gone dry and baked as hard as concrete. They were at the south end. That meant the plane would come in from the north. Then they would load there, do a turn around, taxi back to the north, and take off into the wind. He would hit them when they began to load and perhaps, he was lucky, gain a plane in the bargain.

Sunni Ali had given his warriors their orders. As soon as the plane began to throttle, back on the ground they were to shoot for the tires. His half-tracks would block the runway to prevent the possibility of them taking off, while his jeeps and horsemen would take care of the Land Rovers and their crews. Now it was time for just a bit more patience.

"Silver to Copper. Do you read me? Over." Carl was contacting the plane.

"Roger that, Silver. We've got you five by five. What does it look like down there?
Over."

The looks of relief were obvious on all faces except those of Gus, Dominic, and Sharif
Mamud. They didn't seem to care one way or the other.

"From where we're at it looks clear. The wind is from the south to north, about ten knots with light gusts."

"I read you. We'll make a flyover and orbit the area for a look see. Then we'll come on in. Be ready to get on. I don't want to waste any time getting our ass out of here. Over and out."

Parrish took the C 47 into a wide spiral, working toward the
center. He saw nothing. Moving off a few miles to the north he turned the nose of the plane, put down his landing gear, lowered his flaps, and started coming in. "Should be easy," he said to Rigsby who merely grunted, his usual response.

The wheels touched down, throwing up a stream of dust behind them. Opening the cargo door,
Monpelier stood ready with a Browning automatic rifle. This was no time to get sloppy. Most things, if they went wrong, did so at the last moment.

Langer
and his party were ready, but Langer had had a bad feeling for the last fifteen minutes. "Gus! Take a couple of men and one of the Land Rovers and circle the strip. Keep an eye out. There's something wrong. I hope it's just my imagination. If everything's okay we'll meet at the far end. Graves, you and Abdul come with me."

Gus had seen
Langer's hunches prove right too many times in the past to argue about it. "Check your weapons, put one in the spout if you haven't already. We're going to take a look see." Obediently they climbed in, weapons out the windows, ready to fire if need be.

They moved out rapidly. Halfway down the LZ they passed the plane. Gus waved at Parrish in the cockpit,
then turned the nose of the Land Rover to avoid a rock and saw a flash to his left.

"Oh shit!" If there was an ambush set up, the only thing he could do was try and spring it before the attackers were ready. He headed straight for the spot where he'd seen the brief sparkle of light behind a screen of brush. "Dominic, watch the right front. I saw something."

Sunni Ali saw the Land Rover. No! It was not yet time. He hoped that his men would hold their fire just one more minute. Then it would make no difference.

The sight of the Land Rover coming straight for them was too much for one young
Tuareg. This was his first time on an ambush. Fingers sweating, only his eyes showed the fear and anxiety as the rest of his fourteen year old face was covered by the folds of his veil. He didn't know the exact moment when his finger took up the last of the trigger slack. His rifle suddenly bucked against his shoulder; he had fired. The back of his father's hand knocking him from his horse told him he had screwed up.

Dominic returned fire with his SMG spraying wildly, not really planning on hitting anything. But it would let the rest of his party know that some shit was going down bad. Gus whipped the wheel around and headed back to the others. Bullets snapped off twigs and branches from the dried brush and several rounds punched holes in the Land Rover.

Ali was furious. There was nothing else to do now but attack. "Allah akbar!"

His driver turned out of the
wadi, crashing out of the covering of brush they had been using for camouflage. The rest of his men moved at the same time. Horses, half-tracks, and jeeps hit the strip, spreading out in a line from the north end to the south.

Langer
piled everyone back in the Land Rovers. He stood at the end of the LZ trying to wave Parrish off. Gus came screeching up to him.

"What do we do?" Gus yelled.
A half-track with a machine gun was on an intercept course with the Dakota. Behind it were jeeps and another half-track, and now horsemen are corning out of the brush.

"We have to get the plane back in the air,"
Langer replied. "If it goes down we're in deep shit. Get it up and we can try for another rendezvous somewhere else."

Parrish saw the small figure at the end of the runway waving him off. From his open cargo door
Monpelier was laying down fire, aiming to the rear over the tail at the pursuing line of Tuaregs. Lines of bullets stitched their way up the side of the plane, their holes letting in the desert light. Parrish estimated the amount of ground he had left: no way to take off again. He'd have to turn around. Rigsby opened his window, pulled a 9 mm Browning out from under his seat, and opened fire, knocking a horseman down.

Parrish had to brake to turn and as he did he got his first good look at what was coming after him. "I don't think this is going to be a nice day," he quipped.

Rigsby grunted again and fired off half a clip.

From their end of the landing zone
Langer had the Land Rovers move out after the plane to try and keep the Tuaregs away until it was airborne again.

Sunni Ali found himself in line with the plane. With a touch of regret he aimed the MG 34 at the cockpit.
Plexiglass exploded and Parrish's face became a red mask. Rigsby tried to regain control of the plane but Parrish's body had draped over the yoke. The Dakota went into a spin, angling over sharply till her left wing tip touched down.

The movement threw
Monpelier out the door to hit the dirt, breaking his right leg. Cursing in three tongues at his own stupidity for coming on the flight in the first place, he squatted in the dirt, snatched up his BAR, and tried to blow away the man with the MG 34. He didn't make it. The half-track ran over him, treads crushing his chest to the thickness of a pack of smokes.

When Sunni Ali opened direct fire on the aircraft so did the rest of his men. A tire blew,
then thick whisps of black smoke came from the port cowling. Rigsby fought to regain control. He had the plane just about level when the back of his head erupted. Bullets coming through the fuselage flattened out before hitting him. It was just as well. The plane burst into flames only seconds later.

Langer
pulled his men away, angling off to the northwest. There was nothing they could do now. Firing from their windows they punched holes in the Tuareg horsemen. Voorhees took a wild round through his temple. Abdul opened the door and dropped him out. All weapons firing, they broke away. All they could do now was run for it. Langer signaled for Sims to take the lead.

It was an hour later before they broke contact with the
Tuaregs and stopped to gauge their situation. Graves and Kitchner were done for as was the Land Rover they were riding in, taking a barrage of Tuareg fire miles back. Felix had taken one too, catching a round in his back. When Sims got out of the Land Rover he was limping badly, having to hold onto the Land Rover to support his weight. Blood came from his pants leg and a dark spot was spreading at his waist. Gus was about to punch Dominic playfully in the side and started to make some remark. He never finished it. Dominic's face was pale, lips drawn tight.

"You hit, Dominic?" Gus asked.

Dominic nodded. Under his right arm, from his side, blood was flowing freely. Gently Gus helped him out of the vehicle. Sims limped over with his medic kit. He and Dominic looked at each other. They knew. After treating Dominic, Sims bandaged himself, took a couple of pain pills, and said flatly, "l think someone else should drive and try to take it easy. Up ahead about thirty kilometers is a narrow mountain pass I do believe we should try and get through it before the bloody madman can have it blocked."

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."