Casca 16: Desert Mercenary (13 page)

Shoving a round into the tube, he pulled the arming cord on the rocket and set it to his shoulder, making sure the back blast had a free path. He sighted on the target, his eye firmly against the rubber housing of the sight, and pulled the trigger. The rocket left the tube, traveling nearly in a straight line. Dominic saw it coming.

"Take cover!" he cried. He and Sharif Mamud were able to find partial protection but Sims couldn't move. Undaunted, Sims turned his back on the missile heading for him, and calmly shot another Tuareg in the head. At the very same moment the missile struck three feet away from him, tearing his body nearly in half. Splinters hit Sharif Mamud and Dominic.

Another round from Sunni Ali blasted a chunk of meat the size of a pear from Dominic's thigh. He didn't move. Neither did Sharif
Mamud. Sunni Ali rose. He couldn't see but he signaled his men to advance. Perhaps one of them was still alive and could be questioned.

Two of his men scrambled up the rocks, leaping over the boulders where the ambushers lay. When the first man came over, Sharif
Mamud rose with his knife in his hand crying "
Allah akbar
" and sunk it to the hilt in the man's chest. Reaching the heart, he tore it in half. The other Tuareg shot the old man in the throat, then crawled over him in time to meet Dominic coming up from behind his rock on one knee, pistol in his hand. He and the Tuareg fired at the same time. Sunni Ali could see the bullets strike as puffs of dust rose from their bodies. Both went down.

Leaving the bazooka, Sunni Ali climbed down to examine them. He had an urge to look at them up close. Once he was on the same level with them he strode over to examine them, his robes flowing loose in the dry breeze. One at a time he turned each of the bodies over to look at the faces. First was the old Arab. He didn't know him, but vaguely wondered why one so old would go on such a hard mission. Next was the small man with the soft face and delicate hands. He had fought well. His
body seemed even smaller close up. There was something about death that lessens one. There was also the dark one which his man had shot, putting at least four rounds in the chest and stomach. It had slammed him up against a boulder. Sliding off it, he had gone to his knees, face to the earth like a good Moslem at his prayers.

Stepping over the body of Sims, he saw that his rocket shell had torn a
hole the size of man's fist in the other man's body. There were also several holes where bullets had exited. The blood was already turning dark brown as it dried. Flies had begun to gather in swarms on the dead men's wounds, forming black moving clots.

Sunni Ali bent over to grab the dark man by his tunic. He wanted to see this one's face, also. It was important to him to see each of them in order to understand why they had chosen to stand and die, for surely they had known that death would be their fate.

Shoving the body to where it would roll over on its side, Sunni Ali tried to jerk back his hand instinctively but it was caught. Held.

Dominic pulled Sunni Ali to the earth with him. His face was covered with a fine layer of dust. Blood mottled and dried on cracked lips, he was a picture of hell. He had the face of a
djinn or a madman. Only his eyes were sane. He held Sunni Ali close to his face, holding him down under him. Sunni Ali yelled for help as he struck at his captor's face with his fist. The creature holding him laughed, hacking out blood clots from his ruptured lungs.

Sunni Ali had one quick look before he felt a strange, hard weight on his chest. The creature had stuffed a hand grenade in his
jellaba. Frantic, he tried to gouge out the devil's eyes. But it would not let go. He had only seconds before the grenade would explode. His hand slid his curved dagger from its ornate sheath held in the waistband of his robes. Once! Twice! A third time he sank the knife full to its hilt in the maniac's side, back, and neck, but still it would not let go.

Their time was up. Dominic's hands loosened a split second before the blast. He smiled at Sunni Ali, who had begun his prayer. "Allah is God, the only God, and Mohammed is His prophet" He never finished. The grenade ended his pleas.

The muffled sounds of fighting followed them through the pass. The survivors avoided each other's eyes. Gus drove on, stone faced. They would not stop till they reached Fort
Laperrine in the Ahaggar Mountains. There wasn't anything back there to wait for.

Langer
felt numb. It was always this way. Others died but he went on. Dominic, Sharif Mamud, Monpelier, the others...

Opening a crusted eyelid, he watched Gus's face for a moment. One day Gus, too, would die. And still he, Casca alias
Langer alias... would continue. When that day came it would hurt a great deal, for he would truly be alone again.

Outside the Land Rover desert winds whistled, shifting grains of sand. The Sahara waited also, timeless, patient.

Bitterly Langer shook his head to clear it. Men spoke of killing time. That was wrong. It was time that killed. And no one knew that better than Casca Rufio Longinus, or, as he was known to some, al Kattel the killer.

Shipwrecked on a South Sea island inhabited by warrior tribes, Casca quickly proves himself fearless in combat. Wielding spear and club with murderous precision, the Eternal Mercenary soon earns a respected place in his adopted tribe’s barbarous rituals. Then, when he unveils the devastating power of a new and magical weapon, Casca is elevated from warrior to god…

A god who must lead his army of believers into the bloodiest of battles.

For more information on the entire Casca series see
www.casca.net

The Barry Sadler website
www.barrysadler.com