"Sir," O"Neill panted. "They"re still moving."
They waited on the crest of the ridge with the trees baking around them, looking down at the convoy. The five camels swayed as they walked, with the escort a straggling crowd carrying more sticks and spears than firearms.
Jack frowned, embarrassed that this rabble had bested his professional soldiers. Lifting his binoculars, he scanned the mob until he found Armstrong, riding a small horse near the head. "I see you, you back-stabbing bastard."
"Is that Armstrong, sir?" O"Neill asked.
"Yes." Jack passed over the binoculars.
"He"s talking to somebody," O"Neill said. "I can"t see who for the dust."
"Nor can I." Jack glanced over his men. "We"ll find out tomorrow when we get our loot back."
O"Neill"s chuckle contained little humour. "How sh
