“Think we can take the oasis?”
Stapler reached in his shirt pocket and brought out his last cigarette. He unfolded the package surrounding it carefully, as if unwrapping a highly valuable treasure. He held it to his eyes and searched for any breaks and then, satisfied, he lit it. He had always meant to quit smoking; looked as if he was going to have that opportunity.
“Ought to give those up, Gunny.”
“You are right, sir. This will be my last one, and then I intend to follow your advice. No more.”
“Good.” Nolan hitched his pants up. The gunny sergeant was beginning to listen to his advice. “You’ll live longer if you give those coffin nails up.”
“You’re. right, LT. Anyway, this is my last one. Got no choice. As for the oasis, sir, it’s not a question of can we take it, it’s a fact; we have to take it. Without water, we can’t go on. We wouldn’t last another day. We have a few drops in the bottom of one of those plastic gallon containers. We are portioning it to our three heat stroke victims. When that goes, if they haven’t recovered and we haven’t secured a water source, they die. We die soon afterward.”
Stapler pointed toward the far horizon, back the way they had come. “Somewhere behind us are more enemy. It is not an if, it is a when they catch up with us. We don’t need to be caught between these two groups. We can’t hope to win against both of them. This way, we take the oasis, get a much-needed truck, probably find some food, definitely replenish our water and, hopefully, destroy this group before they can combine forces with the other.”
“Gunny, this isn’t a campaign. We only need to get to the rescue point, not defeat the entire Algerian Army.”
“Maybe, Lieutenant. But, right now, it looks like the Algerian Army is trying to defeat us, and we don’t have the men and equipment to take it on all at once.”
Bearcat Jordan, Professor Walthers, and Karim walked up. “What does it look like, Gunny Sergeant?” Bearcat asked.
“You were right, Professor. There are a lot of people down there. No women and children with them; means they are a combat lot, in my assessment.”
“Could be, Gunny,” the professor answered. “The Tau regs generally travel with their families unless they are going to a market. They are scavengers, traders, and herders more than hunters.”
As the sun edged toward the western horizon, the men continued their conversation about the oasis. Eventually, they moved to the rear of one of the humvees, where someone had placed a bucket of cold beans and Saltine crackers. Munching, they planned the night’s raid on the oasis. With luck, thought Stapler, they would surprise the natives, take the critical oasis from them with a minimum of bloodshed, and quickly leave. Of course, pigs have wings, also. sheila anne forester pulled another of the empty gallon water containers from the truck.
“What is this?” she asked Karim.
He had been standing silently watching her pick up each empty container and check it for drops of water. She jerked another plastic container from the pile, shook it, and tossed it back onto the bed of the truck.
“They only have a few pints left, and they are keeping it for the three heat stroke victims.”
“I am sure they have more than that, Karim. Moreover, what do they think we are going to drink? Our piss?” Karim smiled. “One of the Marines said you can, if it meant surviving.”
Sheila turned her nose up and shook her head. “How crass!”
Karim reached out and touched the ponytail as it swished back and forth. A ponytail she had allowed him to pull hard and caress softly for two nights. After that, she had ordered him away. He couldn’t help it. He laughed, a sad sort of laugh. He knew he shouldn’t have done it as soon as he did.
She stopped and stood absolutely still. “Karim, keep your filthy hands to yourself.”
He quickly let the soft ponytail go, rubbing the sand from it between his fingers.
“Where in the hell are we going to get water?” she asked. “The Marines must have some squirreled away somewhere. They just don’t want us to have any. They are protecting us from ourselves like the big brothers they think they are.” Her hands shoved the empty containers around, still searching for that spare drop or tablespoon of water.
“No, Sheila, I think they are in the same situation as the rest of us.” He pointed to the group of men around the humvee. “That’s what they’re planning now; take the oasis and refill the water jugs.”
“That oasis has been over the hill since we got here hours ago, and no one has even bothered to go check it out, Karim.”
“I think they said Tauregs were there.”
“Well, there you are then! The Tauregs we know, Karim, are petrified of us. I am sure these fourth world primitives will scatter once we get down there.”
“Petrified of you, maybe. They walked around the compound like you were some sort of goddess or something.”
She grinned. “And, were they wrong?”
He grinned, revealing too-white teeth against his black skin. “Not in my book.” He met her gaze until she looked away.
“Well, there you are again, Karim. The question becomes, why hasn’t anyone gone and filled up the containers?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, they are working on doing just that.” A moment of jealousy caused him to spurt out, “Why don’t you ask your lieutenant friend?”
She cocked her head to one side, amused at his jealousy.
He wasn’t the first one and wouldn’t be the last, and besides, it amused her and, God knows, she could use some amusement out here. “Maybe I will. Maybe I will.”
She looked to where Jeff stood with the illiterate, abrasive gunnery sergeant.
Karim stormed away toward the edge of a large canvas tent raised against the hillside. Someone had set up a small stove, heating more beans. Sheila watched him depart; her eyes. with amusement. Men! She chuckled.
Glancing around and seeing no one, she reached up and grabbed two of the empty gallon containers. Holding them by her sides, she started walking away from the camp. Night falls fast in the desert. She was soon out of sight with only the light from the stars to guide her. Sheila pulled her light cashmere sweater from a small rucksack on her back and wrapped it around her shoulders to protect her from the cool night air. Maybe the men were afraid to get the water, but she wasn’t. After all, they were only Tauregs. karim ran to stapler. “sergeant, Miss. Forester is gone!” he gasped, out of breath from his search around the site. He had gone back to the truck after he calmed down only to discover she was no longer there. He spent minutes searching before he returned to the truck and noticed footsteps in the sand leading away from the camp.
Stapler stood up from the group of Marines squatted around him where he had been outlining in the sand with his finger the battle plans for the oasis.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
“I mean she ain’t in camp.” Karim ran his hand over his hair. “I think she may have gone to the oasis.”
“The oasis! Why in the hell would she want to do that?”
“She was thirsty.”
“Thirsty! She was thirsty! Is she also stupid?” Stapler turned to Corporal Heights. “Corporal, take three men and see if you can stop her before she gets all of us killed. You have my permission to hog-tie her until we have secured the oasis.”
Kellogg came scrambling down the hill, losing her footing and sliding the last few feet. Stapler grimaced, watching the valuable nightscope held aloft in one hand and her M-16 in the other. “Gunny, there’s someone out there walking toward the oasis!”
He reached over and took the nightscope from her extended hand. “What are you doing down here, Kellogg?” he asked as she stood up. “You’re supposed to be on watch.”
“Well, hell, Gunny. How in the hell am I supposed to tell you anything up there when I do see it? I don’t have no brick like most of you. Besides, there ain’t no one coming this way; just a body signature heading that way,” she argued, pointing toward the oasis.
“She?”
“Miss. Forester,” Professor Walthers added.
“About halfway to the oasis.”
“Shit!” Stapler uttered. “Lieutenant, we have no choice. We have to move out. Once they discover her, they’ll know we’re out here, and the element of surprise will be lost.”
“You’re right, Gunny.” Nolan answered, his mind whirling over Sheila walking innocently into the midst of those natives. A vision of a staked-out, naked debutante, begging for her life with Tauregs laughing and tracing their knives along her body, made his stomach turn. He grew embarrassed with himself over the feelings he was experiencing between his legs over the thoughts.
“Corporal Heights, take your squad and head to the west end of the oasis. The lieutenant and I will take our squads and approach from the south and southeast.” He looked at his watch. “If we double-time, we can be in position in thirty minutes. Remember, Marines, we want to get there quick, but we have to get there quietly. They outnumber us, so if we can be the first to fire, we reduce the odds.”
“We’ll be there on time, Gunny.” Heights grabbed his M-16, and with the three Marines in his assigned squad, took off at a trot up the hill.
Stapler turned to Karim. “How long has she been gone?”
“Can’t be more than an hour. I talked with her, and she was complaining—”
“Sounds normal, so far.”
“She wanted water, and if there was water in the oasis, then why didn’t someone go and get it.”
“The reason no one went and got it was because the oasis is crawling with Algerians. That’s why we haven’t gone to get water.” Stapler stamped his foot. “Damn!” The thought of water increased his own craving for the few drops remaining in his canteen.
“We can’t leave her out there, Gunny.” Nolen shook his head. “You know what they will do to her.” The vision of the staked-out virgin filled his mind, and the embarrassing stirring in his loins increased. It appalled him. She might die, and he was excited! The stirring stopped.
“We’re not going to leave her, Lieutenant. However, we have to move out now. We have twenty-six minutes to be in position before Corporal Heights begins his attack.
She’ll probably be there in fifteen, if she’s walking. We’ll have to double-time.”
Stapler lifted his M-16, and with the lieutenant running alongside, trotted off. The other Marines followed. “From what I have seen, sir, it is the natives who should be worried,” he said as they rounded the side of the hill and began their run across the plain. “If they discover her before we are in position, Lieutenant, it’s gonna make the battle for Darhickam Oasis, a harder-fought one than we wanted. I would prefer that when the Marine Corps writes the history of the battle of Darhickam Oasis, it exaggerates how hard-fought the battle was than it being an actual fact.”
* * *
Stapler, at a crouch, scurried from one withered scrub to another as he edged closer to the oasis, expecting any moment to hear the sounds of gunfire coming at him. He heard the caustic voice of Top Sergeant Macgregory in his mind: “If your attack is going well, then it’s an ambush.”
Isn’t going to be any ambush, Stapler told himself, but he found himself scrutinizing every bush and tree ahead of them.
The scrub ran across the plain, growing thicker the closer they approached the oasis. Loose sand covered the terrain between and around the scrub, regardless of how close together the scrawny plants grew. In the starlight, the sand and brush made the desert look like an unfocused negative from an old photograph.
Lieutenant Nolan disappeared to the right with two Marines; Abercombie — the sandy-haired teenager from San Diego — and Lerfervre, the hell-raising New Orleans Basque who Stapler had had to discipline a few times.
Their shadowy forms were soon lost amid the whites, grays, and blacks of the night desert.
Stapler pulled his sleeve back and looked at his watch.
The digital readout showed five minutes until party time.
The attack on the oasis was going to come from three directions at staggered times. Corporal Heights and his small-fire team to the left would open fire first, drawing the occupants of the camp across the front of Stapler and Lieutenant Nolan. He raised himself to a kneeling position behind the clump of brush in front of him. The first tree of the oasis was about twenty feet in front of him. He glanced right and saw Catsup in a prone position, her M-16 lifted slightly to keep it out of the sand. The other Marine, Private Jones, was farther away on his left. The heavy Marine kneeled on one knee, resting his M-16 on it.
Jones’s head turned from side to side, slowly searching for any movement ahead of them.
Stapler hoped Heights and his team were farther forward than where he and the LT’s waited. It would be a short battle indeed if they were directly in front of Heights’s fire. Then, those Marines Heights fail to kill with friendly fire, the Algerians would finish off as they swept up their flank. There had been other instances in history where troops had fired on their own colors.
The plan was a simple one. They would shoot the Tau regs and regulars as they passed in front of them, hopefully stopping the attacks heading toward Heights’s position. When Corporal Heights ceased firing, he and the lieutenant would lead the Marines forward and secure the oasis. If it worked as they planned, the enemy would be disorganized and confused. Those who did not flee the oasis would journey on to Allah.
Stapler and Lieutenant Nolan were going to roll through the oasis, mopping up any light — God, he hoped it was light — resistance like grease through a goose.
Stapler motioned his Marines farther apart. Catsup Kellogg moved a few feet nearer to front and off to the left side of Stapler. Yeah, he thought, she does have a butt for spanking. Even in the starlight, he could see her tongue sticking out the left side of her mouth as she concentrated on the view in front.
When he turned to Jones, the Marine had remained where he was but had shifted to the other knee. Stapler started to tell him again to move farther down.
Loud shouts from the camp stopped him. All three of the Marines brought their M-16s up. Even in the thick of the noise, Stapler heard the safeties being flicked off. He held his hand up, motioning downward to hold their fire.
All through the camp, the shadowy forms of Tauregs jumping up and running toward the east weaved in and out of the palm trees. Several of the shadows crossed in front of the few campfires scattered inside the oasis. The Tau regs were running in the opposite direction from where Heights and his squad waited. They were running toward the east end of the oasis where the well was located.
I think they have found our Miss. Sheila Anne Forester. As if hearing him, Sheila’s voice rose above the hubbub: “Keep your filthy hands off me, you bastards!” Then Stapler heard the sounds of slaps, grunts, and flesh-on-flesh hits. He hoped they did not kill her. He wanted the pleasure of doing it himself.
Stapler glanced at his watch again. It was time. As if hearing Stapler’s thoughts, Heights’s squad opened with M-16s on semiautomatic — three shot bursts. Stapler motioned Ks team to hold their fire. He knew what was going through their minds: fear and the desire to shoot. His stomach tightened with the anxiety of combat. He sensed movement to his right, turned his head quickly, keeping the weapon pointed straight ahead. It was Kellogg’s hands opening and closing as she nervously gripped the M-16.
Stapler flipped the safety back on.
Heights’s attack caught the Tauregs off guard, sending many into the arms of Allah before they realized they were on the journey.
Stapler noticed most of the warriors appeared to have no rifles, though he saw the faint starlight reflect off knives. Probably left the more modern weapons behind because of the distraction at the well. The enemy turned in midstride, running back to grab their weapons. Because they had rushed to the well where Miss. Sheila Anne Forester was discovered, they ran directly in front of Stapler and the lieutenant. Sta
pler slipped his finger into the trigger guard and, with a smooth motion, flipped the safety off.
He allowed the first few shadows to pass before Stapler rose to a standing position and fired. Jones and Catsup followed suit, firing into the natives like targets at a carnival rifle range. Nolan’s team opened fire simultaneously with his. The Tauregs fell in bunches. Maybe Miss. Sheila Anne Forester helped the attack through no intent of her own.
Damn if he was going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that.
He heard the Lieutenant shout, “Bayonets,” to his right. What in the hell was he up to? Wait a few more minutes, Lieutenant, for your glory. Whatever, the order for bayonets meant he knew the young stallion would go in shortly. The lieutenant probably had visions of saving the beautiful Miss. Sheila Anne Forester and being her hero.
Damn, junior officers were a pain in the ass. Nevertheless, he couldn’t let Nolan do it alone. “Fix bayonets, Marines!” Stapler shouted. Top Sergeant Macgregory hated bayonets: “The law of the bayonet says the bullet wins.”
The firing from Corporal Heights’s team stopped.
Nolan shouted, “Charge, Marines!”
“Let’s go, Marines!” Stapler shouted, and in one movement, he was up and running through the scrub. This was the dangerous moment when friendly fire could be just as dangerous as the enemy’s. Bullets whizzed by his head. He pulled the trigger on the M-16, sending a three bullet salvo into the darkness. He turned the rifle to the right as a shadow passed in front of a campfire, and he pulled the trigger. The shadow doubled up and screamed as it fell into the fire. It continued screaming as Stapler ran past, the fire igniting the long robe, turning the wounded Taureg into a funeral pyre. Lieutenant Nolan shouted some unintelligible order. Stapler turned toward the LT’s position.
“Ooorah!” The Marine Corps cry that so emulated the rebel yell of the Civil War filled the air as the three groups of Marines charged the oasis. Heights and his team appeared near the center of the oasis, they, too, running and firing toward the east. The Marine Corps yell encouraged them, while the primitive sound had the opposite effect on the enemy.
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