by T. M. Deans
“So why bring him to me, why not just kill him yourself?”
That’s all it took to get all the information he knew. We found out we had been betrayed by the copilot. He had been paid off. They had left two men back in town in case we slipped by their searchers. They had not attacked our airplane, in the hopes of hijacking it after they caught me. With a little more prodding he told us there would be another group going out to find us. They had not left yet so he wasn’t sure what their plans were. There were probably three of them. The one thing we did not get out of him was why they wanted me. He just didn’t know. I believed him. He was just a hired gun like all the rest of these men except black shirt. If they had been real soldiers we probably would not have bested them as easily as we did.
We decided to let him live. The last thing I asked him before I knocked him out was, “What was it black shirt said when I yelled to him?”
“Do not shoot him.”
My free ticket had not expired.
“We need to get back to the plane as soon as possible. Boom-Boom could already be in trouble with the copilot working for the Arabs. Could you fly us out of here if it was necessary?”
“Assuming the plane hasn’t been damaged and we have gas, yes no problem.”
“My guess is that the plane at least is okay. Besides them planning to have the co-pilot fly them out there were government soldiers stationed there, who would probably object to having the Arabs take over their airport. I think we should disable one of the Land Rovers and collect whatever weapons are still useable. Let’s get the water and food we can use, and throw the rest of their weapons down that dry well. We should take the horses with us too. It will give us a second mode of transportation if it’s needed. If we have to sneak into town in the dark the horses will serve us better.”
First thing we did was to locate the keys to the vehicles, and check which one had the most gas. Jada went to work collecting what we needed. I disabled the one land rover by taking out the coil wire and distributor cap. Next, I led the horses over to the other rover and tied them to the back, one on each side just short enough so they couldn’t get a leg over the rope. I left them bridled for a quick getaway, and tied up their stirrups so they wouldn’t flop around.
Jada walked over carrying our newly requisitioned supplies. We had tied up our Arab loose enough so that he would be able to work out of the ropes.
I said, “Better leave him a canteen.”
She replied, “I did. Will the horses be all right following behind us?”
“We can’t drive very fast but without carrying our weight they should be able to maintain a steady trot. From the time we left the stables to our campsite was a little over six hours. We should be able to cut that in half.”
I drove at a speed that was comfortable for the horses to trot. Then I would slow down for them to walk, stop, and check their heart rate. They were doing fine. I had taken Black shirt’s binoculars. They were considerably more powerful than mine. Jada was riding shotgun, scanning ahead of us. We were making good time. I was thinking at this rate we should be at the fringe of the town in less than two hours. I even toyed with the notion of driving straight in and cutting the horses loose. I knew they would head for their stable, and we could race for the plane.
Suddenly there was a loud bang like a gunshot. It spooked the horses. The dapple broke his lead line. There were horrible grinding gear noises coming from under the vehicle. Jada jumped out to catch her dapple, but he had already taken off, although not very far. She quieted my black. I had no gears. Something had blown in either the transmission or transfer case. We were back to being on horseback. Maybe it was for the best.
I mounted my black, and over my shoulder, I said, “Hold down the fort while I catch your horse.”
I couldn’t blame the dapple for spooking. It was such a loud noise we all jumped. He had run off about 300 yards and stopped. He let me come right up to him like the good horse he was. I untied his reins and was about to lead him back to Jada when my black stopped and snorted. Four Tuareg horsemen crested a hill and stopped on a sand dune about 400 yards behind the rover. They could be Friendlies, but my instincts told me they weren’t.
Two of them split off to the left, dismounted and took cover behind some rocks. Jada had the rifles. From the gleam of the barrel it looked like she was about to empty a saddle for me. Just then the two behind the rocks opened up on her. She was trading shots with them. When the other two Tuareg warriors charged me, I had but one choice. To my right were big, soft sand dunes. To my left was Jada. It wouldn’t make sense to get to her. That left me one move. It was then that I realized I didn’t have the 9 mm with me. I had left it on the seat. All I had was the 45 and a cartridge belt. I’d have to make my shots count. There would be no time for reloading, not easy from a galloping horse in soft sand.
This was crazy. All I could think of was the Charge of the Light Brigade. Into the valley of death I road. We were closing now. I couldn’t tell how the black would react while shooting off of him. So far he had been pretty good. The lead Tuareg warrior was brandishing a wicked looking scimitar sword. The other one was taking shots at my horse. So they still wanted me alive. That was convenient. Now it was my turn. My first shot missed the gunmen. The next was a miss. He had a semi-automatic and was trying to hit my horse. My next shot, his horse went down and the rider went over his head. Now the other Tuareg was almost upon me. His scimitar was held high. I wondered if he had forgotten that I was supposed to be taken alive. I pulled the black up and took aim. My fourth shot took him out of the saddle. Every warrior who has ever been in the cavalry knows if you are unhorsed, to fling your sword aside so as not to land on it. His sword was sticking up right in the sand. The Tuareg warrior wasn’t dead. He rolled over and was weakly fumbling to get his pistol out. I shot him again.
I turned in the saddle to make sure the other warrior was no threat to me. Damn it! Not only was he on his feet retrieving his sword from his fallen horse, but he had caught the other Tuareg’s mount. I reached down, pulled the sword out of the sand and faced my enemy. He leaped into the saddle very much unhurt. We were now only about fifty feet from each other. He held a pistol in one hand and his sword in the other, the same as I did. As we circled we kept our pistols trained on each other. I said first in French and then in English, “This isn’t your fight. We don’t have to kill each other. I will pay you more than whatever they offered you.”
He answered, “I have counted. You have shot five times. You only have one bullet left in your revolver. I have many.”
Christ he was right. I had shot five times. What he didn’t know was you never load a single action six with six bullets. You always leave the top chamber under the hammer unloaded. More than one person has shot themselves by not doing this. Which meant, I was pointing an empty gun at a man who was pointing an un-empty gun at me.
“I only need one bullet and besides my gun is bigger than yours.”
“You have their Land Rover. You killed them?”
“Yes all of them. It was their choice to die.”
“You’re a great warrior. I salute you, but I cannot take your money and leave you. I am not a Tuareg. I am an Arab and the brother of one that you have slain. I have sworn to bring you back alive or die trying.”
“Then tell me why you want me. What have I done to make all of this worth the blood that has been lost?”
He said, “That I will not tell you. If I overcome you, you will learn that soon enough. If you best me then I will be dead.” He laughed, “Let us put the guns down. We will fight as men once fought.”
I responded, “I’m wondering how we will trust each other to do that.”
I thought to myself, I really don’t have a choice. He may have vowed to bring me back alive, but now I’ve killed his brother. He might try to wound me and there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it with an empty gun. He is no doubt an experienced swordsman. My only advantage is he doesn’t know his horse. From t
he time I was 10 years old when I was given my first horse, the kids in the neighborhood, and I would regularly beat each other with sticks and garbage can covers from horseback. We progressed to staging battles for the Fourth of July and other events. The gunfire from Jada and the other two Tuaregs had ceased. They must’ve been wondering what we were doing. I hoped I could trust him.
“Okay on three.”
“One two three.” He dropped his pistol. I did not.
“Don’t worry. I gave you my word and I will keep it. I just can’t bring myself to drop it in the sand.”
I stuck it in my saddlebag.
“You’re very confident. Shall we begin?”
“Yes I am. Whenever you’re ready.”
The horses sprang together. His blade sliced in a downward cut. I blocked it and then we were past each other. The horses wheeled and now there was a good 50 yards between us. I had never held a scimitar before, but I liked the feel of it. Both horses leaped out into a full gallop. I leaned forward in the saddle and held the blade out in front of me, my wrist down. At the last moment I reversed my wrist and slashed forward. His blade met mine halfway down to the hilt with a jolt. I rocked in the saddle, and was almost unhorsed. The horses had not slowed when our blades met. We both wheeled our mounts and were again alongside each other trading blows. Perhaps six times our blades crossed, and then I tried a faint and almost lost my head. He was attacking and I was defending. It was clear to me that he was the stronger swordsman, but I had the better mount. He was having some trouble controlling his horse. I disengaged, kicked the black forward five lengths turned into the left as hard as possible and charged. He was wheeling to the right so I smashed into him. I leaned forward, twisted my wrist to the left, and ran my blade well into his stomach. The black never faltered. The impact knocked his horse over sideways. My scimitar was wrenched from my hand as he was falling backward. In a last desperate move he struck downward with his blade. I had nothing to block the blow. I leaned back as far as I could. His blade sliced into the pommel of my saddle and stuck there. An inch back and I would’ve lost my manhood. An inch forward and he would’ve severed the black’s neck. We had both lost our swords. His horse regained its feet. He did not. He was lying on his back with my sword protruding from his stomach. I pulled his sword free from my saddle and dismounted. I checked my horse for wounds. He seemed to be all right. I stroked his head and thanked him. He was a great horse. I walked over to the Arab and knelt down beside him.
He looked up at me and spoke, “I was correct. You are great warrior. It is an honor to die by your sword.”
“I am sorry. You are a valiant warrior too, and a better swordsman. I had the better horse. I would sooner that we were comrades in arms than this. I remember what you said. I will not dishonor you. But if you were to tell me why the people you work for want me, perhaps we could end this killing.”
“It would be better, but I cannot. Forgive me.”
“Your wound is grave. The blood is black. You know what that means. The vehicle is disabled. Otherwise perhaps you could get to a doctor. Was the one who wore the black shirt your brother?”
He nodded. Blood started seeping from his mouth and he was convulsing.
“Do you want me to…?”
He nodded again. “I ask your mother for forgiveness. Allah el Akbar.”
I gave him the gift of mercy. I pulled my sword from him, cleaned it off and took his and stuck it in the sand as a makeshift marker. I reloaded my 45. I couldn’t see his pistol in the sand. The horse I had accidentally shot had his head up. I went over to it and took the Arab’s rifle from the case and I helped the horse to its feet. I also removed the sword sheath. I would keep the scimitar. The bullet had made a flesh wound on the horse and had exited. It wasn’t serious and was already congealing.
The two Tuaregs had come out from behind the rocks and were waving a white flag. I acknowledged their truce and signaled them to come over to me. I guess they wanted their horses and their fallen comrade. While they were riding toward me I checked the Arab for identification, but of course, I only found money. I told the Tuaregs I had no quarrel with them. They could have their horses back. And if they would bury the Arab for me, I would give them the money I had taken from him. They would have to hand over their rifles. I would leave them in the rover. I didn’t want to get a bullet in the back. I think they were a little afraid of me and they agreed.
I caught up the dapple and brought him down to Jada. We took off as fast as we could. The question now was the best approach to the airplane. There were a lot of what if’s to worry about. We might only have one chance to get out of here. We had to play it right the first time. It had been a very long day. We were both tired, but we had to keep going.
We decided to hell with it. We would just go for it. Trying to be as unnoticeable as possible, we got almost to the edge of town. We could actually see the airplane with the big binoculars. It appeared Boom-Boom was sitting outside. Of course it could be a trap. He might even be dead just sitting there. Then after a few minutes the pilot came out of the plane and handed Boom-Boom a drink and went back inside. That was good enough for us. Let’s go.
The stable was between us, and the airplane. It may have been reckless but we road straight up to it and yelled out for the owner. I’ve always been able to read fear, or for that matter a lie, on a person’s face. All I could see on his face was relief that his horses were back. He told us the big black man was worried about us and had come to the stable about an hour ago. We told him his horses were great. If we could take them with us, we’d want to buy them. We asked if anybody else had inquired about us. He said not that he knew of. I told him we were in a great hurry and we were sorry that we couldn’t help to brush the horses down. We needed to use his vehicle to get to the plane. He offered to take us, which belayed any fears of mine that he was in league with the Arabs. I didn’t want him to be in danger if there was going to be a problem.
You never knew when you would need cash, so I always carried a lot in a money belt. I gave him a huge tip. We thanked our truly valiant steeds and drove to the plane. I had told Jada to convey to Boom-Boom that he should subdue the co-pilot if he was at the plane. I wanted to be sure of his guilt. When we pulled up, all three of them were sitting outside. Boom-Boom had a relieved look on his face. The co-pilot had a worried look. Jada addressed Boom-Boom in her native slang, while the pilot assured me we had been gassed up. We prepared to leave immediately.
I don’t know what the co-pilot was thinking but he made his move. He had a pistol half out of his pocket when Jada’s foot lashed out and knocked it out of his hand. I had my 45 out while Boom-Boom was behind him putting the chokehold on him. We threw him in the plane, tied him up, and prepared to take off. Jada climbed into the co-pilot seat. Albert needed to know what had transpired. She would get a message to him, while I explained to Boom-Boom what had happened.
The co-pilot had proved his guilt, but his fate was in Jada’s hands. He had come to once and was questioned. Boom-Boom had put him out again. After about an hour in the air Jada came aft, and motioned to me that the co-pilot should be jettisoned. He had caused a lot of death. I just nodded. Boom-Boom opened the door and threw him out. He was still unconscious as he went airborne. I wondered what it would be like if he was to wake up while he was hurtling to Earth.
We were told that no one had come near the plane, so I was correct in assuming that the Arabs’ plan was to hijack it after my capture. The co-pilot would fly them out, no doubt for a lot of money. Jada and I were totally exhausted we crawled into the fold-down bed. I took her in my arms, I only had enough energy left to tell her she was quite a woman and I loved her. She kissed me and said I was quite a man. Before I fell asleep, my last thoughts were why was this happening to me. This was not what I wanted. I thought I was done with this kind of life. More people have died recently by my hand then in my entire earlier life. Why won’t they leave me alone? All I want is to be in love with Jada and have a no
rmal life.
The next morning Boom-Boom and the pilot wanted to hear about the firefight. I had go over the sword fight twice. I had to explain to them that I had been training with sticks and wooden swords since I was ten years old. In the end, I had only survived because of my black Arab stallion.
We flew to Malaga Spain without incident. We left the plane in the care of our pilot. From there we flew to Barcelona and then to Marseille, France.
54
AT LAST WE ARE IN FRANCE
In the first two towns we checked for Gerard, we came up empty-handed. In the third, bingo! He wasn’t that hard to find. He had become a successful psychiatrist who had retired and moved to a small town near Nice in the South of France. He had a large home just on the outside of town. We parked our rental car nearby, left Boom-Boom in the driver’s seat, much to his displeasure, and walked up to the front door. We knocked, but no one answered.
Then Jada said, “I think I hear someone around the back.”
We walked through a little garden gate and called out, “Mr. Alby. Are you here?”
A very pleasant voice called back to us in French that he was in the garden around the back. As we approached the garden we could see that the man who was attached to the voice was a very tall, thin, distinguished looking gentleman with a kind face. I asked again if he was Gerard Alby. He said he was and asked how he might help us.
“My name is Jack Slade and this is Jada.”
I hesitated for a moment. Jack and Jada. It had a nice ring to it. It was the first time I had thought of it in that sense. I liked the way it sounded.
“We would like to ask you some questions about someone you knew a long time ago.”
“Very well, Mr. Slade. I see that you’re an American.”
“I am. If we could speak in English I would prefer it please.”
“Yes of course. I’m not sure if I can help you. But if it gives me more time to look at this lovely creature, who I believe has stolen her beauty from different parts of the world. I am at your service.”