When Fritz Mundt wakes up, a fire belt is across his shoulders. It feels as if he is being burned with a red hot rod. He sits up anxiously and sees Abdul Hoessein standing over him, his deep brown face wrinkled with laughter.
“You are sleeping late, Legion dog,” he says.
Only then does Fritz notice that the others are already awake, and he realizes that they must have been woken up like this. He knows this because he can see the long tear on the back of Jack Ritchie’s jacket and notices their pale faces. Jack and Podolski’s faces are white, D’Arlan’s face is grey, his eyes dull and expressionless.
The day breaks rosily in the east, but the big creases of the sand desert are still black with shadows. On the highest crests of the dunes, the first light is glowing, and the wind has died do
