Sahara Adventure Series

4. REVENGE OF THE DESERT-2

This young man is a blonde Swede who had joined the French Foreign Legion in the hope of finding adventure. Now he shakes his head from side to side, opens his wet eyes again, and shouts out the words. “Yesterday afternoon, they tortured us without end!” He tries to jump up as if the memory is too much to bear, and his eyes grow glassy with fear. D’Arlan and Fritz Mundt push him back gently. The orderly, who had been working on some of the wounded, rushes over and gives him an injection.

D’Arlan rises slowly and looks urgently at the medic. The orderly only shakes his head slowly and meaningfully.

“I am afraid, mon Capitaine,” says the grey-haired medical orderly, “that there is not much I can do. I can merely inject them so that they can die while unconscious.” The medic, who had seen so much death already, but nothing quite like this, continues. “I can only spare them the pain. No man can stay alive after so much blood loss. These wounds…they are terrible…”

mon Capitaine“Is there no hope? Not even for one of them?” D’Arlan asks softly.

The medic shakes his head. “Not for even one of them.”

Sergeant Renan comes up to D’Arlan and hands him a note. “We have found it in the deceased Sergeant Vermeer’s pocket, Capitaine,” Renan, who is just as pale as the rest of the men, explains.

CapitaineD’Arlan slowly opens the note and starts reading. The men see the sweat breaking out on his forehead, not something you would see daily. They have seen it before, but only in situations of dire perils or situations of shock. Eventually, he looks up. He looks at the b****y men in turns and wipes his mouth. He struggles to meet the eyes of the men standing there, but finally, he looks into the eyes of Fritz Mundt and Jack Ritchie, who are standing there completely tense. It seems as if they are looking at him in accusation.

The two Legion men have never seen such an expression in D’Arlan’s eyes, although they have been with him through so much in the past. His eyes, usually so sharp and awake, are soft and vulnerable in shock tonight. It glows in deep sympathy and pity now. It seems as if he is begging for their forgiveness with his eyes.

His dry lips move strangely when he speaks. “I am sorry, mes amis,” he tells Mundt and Ritchie. “I am truly sorry.”

mes amisThey stare at the captain and look at each other, and in both of them, there is a silent protest and some condemnation. They experience a brief moment of hatred towards D’Arlan and know he deserves it.

D’Arlan cannot stand the expressions in their eyes and turns from them. He refolds the note and knows his eyes have answered their unspoken question. He had hoped that they would have at least said something to him, even burst out against him in judgment, although he is their senior officer. Moments like these know no discipline. In times like these, boundaries disappear in an army, and it merely brings all down to the same level. The only status left is the status of being a person who suffers from that. D’Arlan walks to the door and knows that although no word has been spoken, Mundt and Ritchie’s questions have been answered, the silent question about the South African Teuns Stegmann, their fellow soldier, and friend.

Fritz Mundt’s voice makes him stop when he is at the door.

“Mon Capitaine,” the big German says hoarsely, “mon Capitaine…It is not your fault. You could not have known…” His deep voice is hoarse and trembling, and for the first time, D’Arlan notices tears in Fritz Mundt’s eyes. This big, hulking soldier appears to have no heart and is a good fighting machine without feelings.

Mon Capitainemon Capitaine“It is my fault, mon legionnaire,” says D’Arlan, and a strange smile plays in the corners of his mouth. “I should never have separated you. Legend has it that it is unlucky to separate friends in the French Foreign Legion. I have never believed it, but now I do. When I have decided to send him off without the two of you, I have brought disaster down on the patrol and the garrison.”

mon legionnaire“There are no ill feelings, mon Capitaine,” Jack Ritchie says tremblingly.

mon Capitaine“Thank you, mes amis,” the captain says with a quick hand swing. “He was a brave man. Stegmann was, one of the bravest.”

mes amisThen he walks out quickly, and they hear his boots echoing down the long, stone corridor.

“You fool! You miserable fool!” Fritz Mundt shouts out after D’Arlan, and he balls his enormous fists.

“Mundt!” Sergeant Renan snaps, and the order is so sharp that Fritz calms down again. “Count your words, Mundt, or would you like to be court-martialed?”

“I am sorry, mon Sergent,” Fritz says submissively, and his voice is soft and broken.

mon SergentD’Arlan walks quickly to the sleeping quarters of Colonel Paul Le Clerq, commanding officer of the garrison in Dini Salam. He knocks loudly, enters, and lights the oil lamp. The colonel blinks at him, still half asleep.

“What the devil, D’Arlan,” he bursts out. “Is this how you enter my room at this time of the night?”

“Vermeer’s patrol, mon Colonel,” D’Arlan says while tremblingly coming to attention.

mon Colonel“What about Vermeer’s patrol?”

“They have been annihilated.”

Le Clerq swings out of bed and jumps up. “Annihilated?”

“Yes, mon Colonel, by the Dulacs, under the leadership of El Karima.”

mon Colonel“The pestilence!”

“They have been brutally tortured and maimed. Most of them have bled to death. We have found them tonight against the west wall of the fort. There is nothing we can do for them. Those not already dead are going to die soon.”

“All of them?” the grey-haired colonel asks, shocked and with a tremble in his voice.

“All, except for one.”

Le Clerq looks at D’Arlan questioningly. His eyes are shiny in astonishment.

“Except for one?”

“The South African, private Stegmann.”

“What about private Stegmann?” the colonel asks impatiently. “Speak up, Capitaine.”

Capitaine“El Karima has taken him to Dutra.”

“Taken him away?” Le Clerq scratches his head. “I have heard a rumor that El Karima is in love with the South African.”

“It is not a rumor, mon Colonel. It is true, but private Stegmann’s loyalty had always been with the French Foreign Legion, even when he had been in her hands.”

mon Colonel“Why are you worried then about the South African soldier? If she is in love with him, surely he will have a place next to her on the throne of the Dulacs.”

D’Arlan pulls the note out of his pocket.

“I am afraid that it will not be the case, mon Colonel,” says D’Arlan, and he hands the piece of paper over to Colonel Le Clerq.

mon ColonelLe Clerq reads the note, and the lines in his weathered face deepen. Drops of sweat are breaking out on his forehead, and his dark face pales.