Casca 16: Desert Mercenary (7 page)

The Dakota C 47 lurched a bit when Parrish banked it to the port. The head winds had reached them, slowing the plane's ground speed down to a little over a hundred miles per hour. For the next hour the plane bucked and rocked, swayed and dipped. Those lying on the floor woke up and sat back in their seats where they had the comfort of safety belts.

Parrish would have liked to go higher but his plane wasn't pressurized. Still he took it up to 12,000 feet. That was it. He had oxygen for himself and Rigsby but if he went any higher some of the guys in the back would start to pass out.

Gaining 1,000 feet helped a bit. At least he'd gotten above the sandstorm. Below him it was as though the floor of the desert had come up to meet him. It was a solid sheet of darkness sweeping past him. If he had stayed down lower it would have sandblasted his plane down to the frame.

He told Rigsby to tune in Radio Niamey for the weather report.

"Looks like the storm should be over in another hour or two, boss."

Parrish was glad. The plane was kept in good repair, but one never knew. The remote possibility of having to go down in winds of over fifty miles per hour with zero visibility was less than appealing. "Glad to hear that. We'll just ride it out till it passes, then go in. By then we should have first light. I don't want to go down till then, anyway. "

Rigsby
jerked his head to the rear. "What do you think about those guys back there?"

Parrish shrugged his shoulders. "Who
knows. I'm just glad we're not going with them. It's bad enough hauling this crate around for a living."

Rigsby
grunted in agreement. "Yeah, but it still seems a bit strange. You know, taking these guys in and knowing that not all of them will be coming back. Strange, kinda like we're a hearse rented in advance."

Parrish leaned back to get more comfortable. "Knock it off,
Rigsby. They got their job to do and we got ours. Don't think too much about them. They're expendable. That's why they're here, and they know it. But I would like to think that we're not, so just keep this bucket's nose in the wind and off the deck till then. I'm going to try and catch a few winks."

"You got it, boss. I'll wake you at first light. That should be in about two more hours."
Rigsby took over the yoke.

Carl watched the faces of his men as they tried to sleep through the buffeting of the air currents. Gus was the only one who slept peacefully, his head bobbing and jerking from side to side as the plane rode the bumps. Shard
Mamaud looked a bit green, maybe had a touch of airsickness. Carl checked his watch. Dawn would be coming soon. His eyes closed.

The winds below began to slacken until they didn't have enough force to keep the grains of sand flying. The storm was dying with the new day. The earth was still dark but to the west
Rigsby saw the sun edging up over the rim of the world. "Wake up, boss." He nudged Parrish. "Time to put this crate down."

Parrish stretched in his seat, trying to work out the kinks in his back. He extended his long arms, nearly hitting his co
-pilot in the face. "Sorry about that. Okay, I got her. Now let's take her in.” They were 100 miles off course, which was no big deal. The Ahaggar Mountains could easily be seen off to the starboard.

Parrish banked to the port and lined up on the southern end of the range. "One hour till touchdown. Hope they got some coffee at the strip."

Carl's eyes came open when he heard the landing gear being lowered. The plane shuddered a bit, then steadied.

The sky was crystal clear, visibility unlimited. Parrish made one pass over the runway to check the wind sock. It was calm, though sudden gusts could blow up at any time. The strip had been cut by bulldozers
leveling off a small mountaintop during the time when Fort Laperrine had been one of colonial France's southernmost outposts. Nothing had changed since the last time Parrish had been there: a few huts with metal roofs, a couple of frame hangars, some fuel tanks, and a building that had once housed a poor man's control center. Now it was abandoned.

Lining the nose up he lowered his flaps to full and cut back on the throttle. One good thing about the C 47 was that it had a hell of a good glide factor with the cool morning air. He set it down easy, smoothly cut the power, and taxied straight to one of the hangars. Off to the side of the runway were a few goats under the care of shepherd boys, their eyes large with wonder as the plane coasted in.

As they taxied Rigsby hit the intercom mike, announcing to his passengers in the rear. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to lovely Fort Laperrine, onetime romantic outpost of the Foreign Legion, now host to an unknown number of ghosts and goatherds. While our captain taxies us in, please remain in your seats and observe the no smoking sign until we have come to a complete stop, at which time stay where you are, pending further instructions. Thank you for flying with us, and we hope we have made your trip as much a pleasure for you as it has been for us to serve you." Parrish looked at Rigsby with raised eyebrows. He hadn't said that much at one time since Parrish had known him. Rigsby just shrugged.

Rigsby's
impression of an airline stewardess did much to set a good mood. It lightened the moment. As they taxied down the runway Carl looked out the porthole. There were three other aircraft visible, another Dakota and a couple of single engine Cessnas. None of them had military or government markings.

Monpeli
er went to the cargo door and pulled it open, then leaned out to get a look around. Carl wondered who he was expecting. He didn't think the other crew in the Land Rovers could have made it in that fast, not with the storm of last night.

When they came to a stop in front of the open doors of a frame hangar with a tin roof and peeling
gray paint, he heard a hail from the ground.

"
Marhava yessun
. Welcome, effendis, to Tamanraset. "

Monpelier
greeted the turbaned man in a threadbare white suit, with: "
Allah maak, Yousef
."

"And God be with you also, Mr.
Monpelier. All is as you requested. Please to leave your transport and feel at ease. "

Monpelier
pulled his head back inside "It's okay, he works for me." Carl saw him adjust a bulge under his shirt the size of one of the 9mm before jumping down to the ground. Gus looked at Carl who gave him the nod. Gus took one of the Mats 49 SMGs out of its box and slapped a loaded magazine in it. When he did this, the rest of the crew instantly cleared any fog from their brains and were on the edge of their seats, ready to move.

"Sit still. I'm just playing it safe," Carl said. Gus moved to where he could keep an eye on
Monpelier and Yousef, who was escorting Monpelier into the hangar.

Gus kept the submachine gun out of sight but ready to fire if needed.
Monpelier went over to a few crates and drums, inspecting them, nodding his head up and down, then waved for the rest of them to come on in.

Carl stretched his legs before leaving. To the rest of the men he ordered, "Break out the pistols. Fill clips and take them with you but keep them out of sight. When you leave the aircraft, move loose and easy but place yourselves where we can keep an eye out for a full 360 degrees. Like I said earlier, I'm just playing it safe. Gus, you stay with the plane until I send someone to relieve you. I wouldn't want any of our cargo to disappear or get into the wrong hands."

The men did as he ordered and casually spread out. Carl followed Monpelier inside the hangar and found him talking to the Arab who had greeted him, a tall, thin man with hot eyes and long delicate fingers, wearing his white tropical business suit which had long since seen better days.

"This is Yousef, an old acquaintance of mine, Carl. He is a very useful man as long as you can outbid your competition. But at least he doesn't make any bones about it. You always know where you stand with him."

Carl nodded to the Arab. "Then he won't have any hard feelings if I let him know that if he does anything that screws up our job I will find him and kill him in a way that his ancestors would have appreciated."

Monpelier
grinned widely. He always liked to provoke a reaction where he could. It made the job so, much more interesting. Yousef had a wary look to him as he tried and failed to meet the gaze of the scar faced man.

"He means it, Yousef. He will find you and do exactly as he has said he would. Perhaps you heard of him during the troubles. Some of your people gave him a nickname, al
Kattel, the killer. Does that ring a bell, old boy?"

Monpelier
was obviously delighted with Yousef's reaction. Suddenly sweat beads appeared on his brow and upper lip. A slight nervous tremor shook the hand that wiped the sweat away with a yellowish handkerchief. He had heard of al Kattel.

"
La, ya akhi
! You misjudge me, sirs. I am an honorable man doing only my very best for my friends. I assure you that I am here only to serve your needs. See, have I not delivered to this most difficult and lonely place all that you asked of me?" He indicated the fuel drums and supplies. "In the office I have also installed, as per your instructions, the radio. It is a most fine radio, sir. With it you can speak to the whole world if you should so desire. Please do not think that I would break our long friendship by a hasty act."

Monpelier
had to control a burst of laughter that had started low in his gut and threatened to explode out his mouth. He swallowed to keep it down and said quite seriously, "I know that, old friend. And now I am certain that your new acquaintance will become a good friend to you also, providing you both live long enough to learn to appreciate each other's good points."

Nodding his head at what had once been the hangar office he said, "Come with me. We might as well get as comfortable as possible."

As they headed for the office, Parrish and Rigsby were already checking over their plane, getting it ready for the next flight. They wouldn't lie down until that was done. They'd learned from past experience that it was best to be ready for an instant take-off.

The office still held some furniture, a
rolltop desk, two cane chairs, and a couch whose leather cushions had cracked and dried. Carl chose a chair.

Monpelier
went to the desk, on which sat the radio. He turned it on to check it out. Satisfied, he turned it back off. "This is so I can keep in contact with you for most of the time and perhaps be able to provide any extra assistance you might need. There will be one more like this with the Land Rovers."

They were interrupted by Sims sticking his head in the door. "I say, sir. Your man, you know, the big brute, is asking about food and drink. What should I tell him?"

Carl looked at Monpelier, who said, "Tell him to come on in. Yousef has provided for that as well. Find him and tell him to get everyone fed."

Sims looked at Carl for confirmation. After all, he was their leader now.

Carl nodded in agreement. "Go ahead, Sims, and tell the others to take it easy but keep an eye out. Also, I want the crates with the weapons brought inside. The rest of the gear can stay on the plane."

"Very good, sir."

Sims disappeared to do as he was told. Monpelier grunted. "Very conscientious, that one,
n'est ce pas?
"

"Yes, I think he'll do all right. But right now I would like to know when the rest of the team will be in. That storm will probably have slowed them down."

Monpelier agreed. "You are right, of course, but if they haven't had any motor trouble, even with the storm they should be in by nightfall or early morning at the latest. If you want to rest some more there'll be some sleeping bags among the gear that Yousef brought. They're good ones American army."

"Not right now. I'll wait a while."

Carl left Monpelier in the office. He wanted to get outside for a while. Here in the Ahaggars the air was cooler. At night it would drop to freezing quite often. Just out of sight behind a ridge was Fort Laperrine. He had been there before, years ago when they had fought the Tuaregs and Riff raiders that had been driven from the Atlas Mountains into the desert. The town was like all the others. For centuries it had been a juncture where caravans could rest and water. Whoever controlled the Ahaggars controlled access to the heart of the Algerian Sahara. "
Vive la Legion
."

He nearly laughed. When he thought about it he had enough time in the Legion to collect
a half dozen pensions. A shiver rippled over his forearms. The Ahaggars had never meant anything but trouble, and now he was back. He wanted to get out of them as soon as possible.

Nothing to do but wait for the others to show up.
If they didn't make it in time then what? Would he be able to go in with what he had? Not likely but not impossible, if they had a death wish. It was hard as hell to scare men who were ready to die. He knew he had at least one, Dominic... and maybe Sharif Maraud.

They spent the night in the hangar, Carl and Dominic questioning Sharif Mamud about the mountain. It was an hour after dawn when the Land Rovers showed up. The passengers were heavily coated with Saharan dust. They looked more like ghosts than mercenaries.

Monpelier
had them pull the Land Rovers inside the hangar. Carl didn't envy them their journey. It had to have been a ball buster. From the way they moved he knew they had the same opinion.

The stiff legged arrivals accepted
Monpelier's invitation and headed for some water cans to rinse off before getting down to business. Among them was Abdul Khanas. He was one Carl had met before, a Sudanese veteran of Indochina, a good, solid man with strong hands and a quick smile. The only other one he knew was Jacques Foche, a Belgian mercenary who had been with nearly all the world's armies at one time or another. He was without conscience or loyalty to anyone or anything except the job he was on at the time.

The rest of the team consisted of two Brits, Felix Martine and
Kitchner, an American named Alan Graves, and Saul Voorhees from Pretoria.

It was obvious that some of them had worked together before. Abdul greeted Roman warmly and gave
Egon a nod of recognition. Dominic made the rest of the introductions.

Carl told them to rack out for a while. After that ride they were sure to need it and he didn't want anyone falling asleep when he outlined the job.

At four in the afternoon the men had been fed and their coffee poured. They found seats on boxes and crates, and were waiting.

"Some of you know me," Carl began. "We have worked together before. Those of
you who have questions about me, go with them to those that have worked with me. I don't have time for individual consultations.

"
Monpelier has told you the purpose of the job: to get in, snatch two people, and get back out. Let's try to do it and return with everyone that we started out with. Tomorrow the Land Rovers will move out again with new crews." There was an audible sigh of relief from those who had just driven over 1,000 miles across the desert. "They'll have radios with them so we'll know when they're on site. They are to find a landing zone for the rest of us to set down on. Those in the Land Rovers will have only one rifle and their pistols for personal protection. If they carried any more with them they'd be too tempting a target for bandits. When they are on site they'll signal and we'll move out. Till then everyone is restricted to the strip and this hangar. No one goes into town. If one word leaks out about the job then the whole thing will be blown and someone's definitely going to die." He waited to give them time to digest what he was saying.

"Alright, then.
A lot of this is going to have to be played by ear. We know where the hostages are being held and we have a guide who knows the terrain and will lead us in. Once on site, anything can happen. At last word there were about forty to fifty armed Tuaregs at the target area. I don't think that should slow us up any. They're tough, brave men, but I think we have experience and training on our side plus the advantage of surprise if we move fast enough. Just remember when we do go in follow orders and we'll have a good chance of pulling it off. There are still some details to be worked out and I'll fill you in on them when the time comes. As of right now, no one backs out. Everyone here is going all the way. Any questions?"

Egon
stood up. "What is our time frame?"

Carl looked at Dominic, who held up his hand. "We have five days max. Then Sunni Ali is going to start sending little pieces of the girl to her father in law. We want to get to them before that happens."

"All right," Carl said, "let me run it down. As it stands now we go in from the desert side of the mountain. We hit them before dawn. Grab the boy and girl, and run for it. The Land Rovers will be waiting to rendezvous and pick us up. We'll ride to where the plane can set down, load up, and get out. That's it. Simple and easy if nothing goes down wrong, which will depend a great deal on you people. That's it for now. No more questions till later. I want Dominic, Stachel, Roman, and Sims to come with me to the office."

The group broke up. The men he called off followed him into the hangar office and sat on the couch and chairs.

"Okay, you guys are it," Carl told them. "You're going for a little ride. Dominic, you're in charge." He spread out a map of the area and showed Dominic where he wanted him to be. "I need two landing zones, one somewhere around here," he pointed to the western side of Mt. Baguezane, "and the other landing zone here near the road leading from Agadez to the Ahaggars."

He folded up the map and gave it to Dominic. "I want you to go out and check out the Land Rovers. Talk to the new guys and see if they had any problems with them. Give them the full treatment. Oil change and filters, and don't take any chances with them on the road. We can't afford any breakdowns. If you're wondering why I'm sending you, I think that's obvious. You're rested; those guys out there are beat. I'm keeping
Gus with me because he'd attract too much attention out there. He's just too damned noticeable."

They all had to admit that was true. To
Egon, Carl said, "Monpelier told me that you had radio training. Is that right?"

"Yes, I can handle most kinds of communication equipment,"
Egon replied.

"Good. I want a check in every eight hours, beginning at 0800 hours around the clock. Sims, I'm sending you because I want these men in good shape when the rest of us get there. So take care of them. Roman, from what Dominic has told me you're the best shooter, but try to avoid any trouble. If it comes I don't want anyone getting out
to tell. If you have to shoot, then kill.

"Right now I want you men to do like I said, check out the vehicles and draw supplies. Check everything out yourselves,
then report back to me. That's it for now. Get on with it."

When Carl opened the door to let them out, he saw Yousef standing by the Land Rovers talking with the new arrivals. He had not been present at the meeting and that was at Carl's request. Yousef had no idea what the details of the job were and Carl preferred to keep it that way.

"Yousef! Come here," he ordered.

The frame in the white suit visibly shrank at the sound of his name. Scuttling over to Carl he tried to affect an open, friendly stance. "Ah yes, effendi, is there something I may do for you?"

"Yes, keep the hell away from those men. Don't talk to them, don't ask questions, and if you hear anything, forget it. Also, you will not be going anywhere for the next few days. You'll be staying right here with us."

"But, Effendi, I have much business to attend.
Things which require my attention. I cannot remain here for such a time."

Langer
grasped him by the wrist and applied pressure. Yousef felt the bones begin to give way. Through tears welling up in his eyes he croaked out, "But of course, sir. If you think it is best, then I shall certainly do as you request."

"Order, Yousef, not request." He released the wrist and left Yousef standing alone rubbing his injured limb with tender f
ingers, his eyes shooting daggers at Langer's back.

Monpelier
had watched the scene and said while lighting a smoke, "You didn't make a friend with that routine."

"I really don't give a damn,
Monpelier. There's something about him that I don't like."

Monpelier
blew a smoke ring. "All I can say is that I've worked with him before and as long as he was well paid, I had any trouble with him."

"Any trouble you knew about." Carl left him to chew that over.

For hours Dominic and the others toiled over the Land Rovers. It was near midnight before they turned in. Carl wanted them to have a good night's sleep before they headed out. The night's sentry duties were broken down among the new arrivals, with Gus taking first turn. Carl chose the last watch so he could see Dominic and the others off.

Monpelier
had taken off with Parrish and the plane, saying he'd be back in a couple of days. He had business in Tripoli to attend to. That was all right. Carl needed a couple of days to get familiar with the new men, to watch them and locate trouble spots before they sprang up. One good thing was that this job was moving so fast there wouldn't be much time for personality conflicts to develop.

The new men had hit the rack early, trying to catch up on sleep, each taking a sleeping bag and making a place to lie down.
Langer wandered around until a little after midnight, then lay down himself in the office. Rank did have its privileges; he took the couch.

Voorhees, the South African, woke
Langer by tapping him lightly on the bottom of his foot. "Time to get up, sir." Langer grunted and rolled out shaking the kinks out of his back. Taking the submachine gun from Voorhees, he let him have the couch.

Dominic and the others were already up and ready. "All set, Carl. Is there anything else we need to know?"

Langer yawned widely before answering, "No. Just make sure you check in. Your call sign is Gold and I'm Silver. That ought to keep it simple enough. Remember we have to be on the deck in three days, no more. So don't fart around out there, and good luck."

Dominic took the lead, Sims drove the trailing vehicle,
Egon was in the center with Roman. Their Land Rovers were loaded with extra gas and water cans as well as spare parts for those most likely to break down. Each vehicle had a power winch and cable on its front. These would be needed in the days to come when one would have to pull the other out of ruts and deep sand.

Langer
watched them move out across the runway and out onto the road leading down the mountain to the flat lands. Three days, no more. If anything at all went wrong and slowed them up, there'd be hell to pay. He'd be glad when Monpelier got back. Gus was all right, but he wanted someone a bit more discreet on hand to keep an eye on Yousef. Gus had all the subtlety of an elephant in heat.

He was waiting by the radio when the first call came in right on time. The transmission was loud and clear.
"Silver, this is Gold. How do you read me? Over."

Langer
hit the talk button. "I got you five by five. Everything okay?"

"Roger that, Silver.
Making good time. The road is clear but it's getting hot as hell out here. Will check in again on schedule. Out."

Langer
felt relief. It was good to get the first call, but he knew that from now until they rendezvoused he would wait impatiently for each check in and worry like hell when they were a minute late.

During the next two days Yousef made it a point to keep out of his way. He found odd jobs to do and made no further requests of Langer for anything, knowing they would be refused. He was not going to be permitted to leave and that was that.

Langer
talked with the rest of the team and, satisfied that each knew his job, left them pretty much to their own devices, cards, and talk of women. But no booze. From now until the job was over they would have a dry camp.

It quickly became a ritual for the men to hang around at check in time. So far they'd had no problems to slow them down. The weather had been good and the vehicles performed perfectly. They had turned off the road on the Algerian side of the border to avoid the border checkpoint at
Guezzam where Sunni Ali was certain to have eyes. They headed cross country to pass into Niger, then turned back to the south to enter the Tenere depression. They were on time.

Carl was relieved when
Monpelier returned with the plane. The only thing he'd been able to do in the last two days was have the men go over the gear, and you could only clean a weapon so many times. The reports from Dominic were the only real entertainment he had.

When
Monpelier came back Carl collared him.

"It looks like a go. Dominic will f
ind a place to set down and we'll go in tomorrow."

Monpelier
wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. The day was warming up even here, 5,000 feet above sea level. "Very good. How have the men been behaving?"

"No pro
blems, but I wouldn't want to keep them locked up here much longer. Did you find out anything else?"

"Yes, but I don't think it's going to please you. Understand that it is just a
rumor, but Sunni Alli is supposed to have some kind of motor transport with him. Just what it is I don't know, and I also don't know where it's kept. So once you get the hostages out, don't waste any time. Move out fast."

"You can bank on it," Carl answered sourly. "I'
ll tell the men that we go in tomorrow morning after we hear from Dominic."