The Best Ye Breed na-3

by Mack Reynolds

  But El Hassan was still shaking his head. “It’s one of the best propaganda bits that have dropped into our laps. How will it look in the world press when the word goes out that thousands of Arab Union troopers have gone over to us? We’ll do the same with them as the Romans used to do. If a bunch of German mercenaries came over to them, they shipped them down as garrison troops in Egypt. If a few thousand Syrians offerd their services, they sent them to Spain, and so on. That’s what we’ll do. We’ll send elements of these Arab Union soldiers down south, to Chad, Senegal, Nigeria, or wherever, under Ifriqiyah officers, of course, and garrison them down there.”

  Bey said, “How about the other thousand who didn’t defect? We haven’t the food and water for them to keep them indefinitely in a prison camp. For that matter, we haven’t enough food and water for our own men. We’re up to our eyebrows in warriors from all over half North Africa, I mean Ifriqiyah.”

  Homer said, “I’d say, subject to vote, of course, to send them back on foot to the Arab Union accompanied by enough trucks and ambulances to carry supplies, water, and their wounded. We’ll accompany them as far as, say, Ghadames, and let the Arab Union take over from there.”

  Kenny grumbled, “And give them the chance to come back and fight us again, some day?”

  It was the wiry Rex Donaldson who laughed at that. “Those poor blokes, after the fight they’ve had and after trekking half a thousand miles across the ergs on foot, couldn’t be talked into coming down here again by the silver-tongued Demosthenes.”

  Isobel said slowly, thoughtfully, “Besides, they’ll spread around to their villages, their towns and cities and the word will go out that far from being massacred by El Hassan, as they deserved, they were treated for their wounds, and sent home with ample food and water. Someday, sooner or later, we’re going to have to take all of North Africa, including those areas now in control of the Arab Union. It won’t hurt for the people to know that they have nothing to fear from El Hassan, that he comes to liberate, not suppress.”

  That decision passed. They sat back and thought some more.

  Homer said finally, “We’re going to have to issue an Ifriqiyah Monroe Doctrine. No North African borders are to be altered through foreign intervention. No foreign military units are to be allowed in North Africa.”

  Cliff took him in skepticaly and said, “But we’re the ones who are changing the borders. Hell, we’re assimilating whole former countries. Chad just came over, lock stock and barrel.”

  Bey was surprised. “When?”

  “Just this morning. The military dictatorship in the capital N’Djamena, they used to call it Fort Lamey, was overthrown bloodlessly.” Cliff shrugged his huge shoulders. “And the mobs opted for El Hassan.”

  Kenny said, “That’s going to be a problem. Half the nomads down there are starving to death. As soon as we can, we’re going to have to spend some of this mineral wealth money we’re being begged to accept, on trucking in massive relief to the area.”

  “That’ll come,” Homer agreed. “This Ifriqiyah Monroe Doctrine thing. It’ll apply to foreign non-North African, powers. Not to us. It was the same with the American Monroe Doctrine. It didn’t apply to the United States. It sent its troops in whenever it wanted. When Napoleon the Third sent French forces into Mexico to support the French puppet Emperor Maximilian, the Americans were embroiled in the Civil War. But as soon as it was over, the United States turned a baleful eye on old Napoleon and he got out in a hurry, leaving Maximilian in a lurch. But we Americans invaded Mexico and interfered with her internal affairs so often you’d think there was a revolving door on the border. We took the best territories they had, including Texas and California. The same with Cuba. We kept our troops there until everything on the island worth owning belonged to American corporations and the following governments, even after the troops left, were kept under our thumb, until Castro, that big villain, came along. Or look at Panama. It used to be part of Colombia, but when Colombia balked at some of the arrangements for a canal, the first Roosevelt backed a revolution in Panama and the Colombians were forced to cede the area. Then there were countries such as Nicaragua, Haiti, Guatemala, the Dominican Republic. Joining the American Marines was like getting a conducted tour of Latin America.”

  “All right, all right,” Cliff said. “I’m in favor. An Ifriqiyah Monroe Doctrine. We take umbrage at any foreign troops in North Africa and any attempts to change any borders—except when we do it.”

  The motion was carried.

  They hadn’t worked out a constitution, as yet, but automatically they had fallen into a system where all votes were of equal value, including that of El Hassan himself.

  Bey said then, “We’ve still got the problem of all these followers of El Hassan. We haven’t the resources to keep them in arms. Besides, they’re needed at home to take care of the flocks and to farm the oases, keep their embryo industries going, and, above all, to work in the new mines, on the irrigation projects, the dams and all the rest of the new developments. Besides that, with so many of them away, who knows what kind of banditry is going on back on their home territories?”

  Homer considered it.

  He turned finally to Isobel and said, “Take some notes on instructions to Guémama upon his return. He is to carefully select one thousand of the best warriors of all now gathered, who will serve as El Hassan’s elite corps. They must be of the type who are cool in combat and don’t froth at the mouth. They are to be of the type who can take orders and obey their officers. Preferably they are to be veterans who have possibly served in the past under the French, British or Spanish and hence know the workings of modern weapons. Especially to be located are those who can drive and repair vehicles. He is to seek these out and, with the assistance of those among them who were formerly non-coms in the foreign armies, begin their training, until the return of El Hassan and Bey-ag-Akhamouk, his Vizier of Defense.”

  Isobel shot a quick look at him, but continued with her notes.

  Homer went on, “Also he is to recruit goums, camel patrols, of twenty men each. And each of these are to be led by a responsible mokkadam, undivided in his allegiance to El Hassan and Ifriqiyah. These small harkas will be mounted upon hejin racing camels and will be the equivalent of the former Méharistes, the Desert Camel Corps of the Roumi. They shall patrol all the domains of El Hassan and protect the land from those who would raid, especially those who would attack the new irrigation works, the afforestation projects and so forth which El Hassan sponsors.”

  He thought for a moment, then added, “Most likely, these goums will consist largely of the Tuaghi, since they know best the Sahara, but other capable warriors will not be excluded.” He paused again, before finishing up. “All others, after these have been selected, will return to their homes, until summoned again by El Hassan and they will carry the message of El Hassan wherever they go, to their own people, and all others.”

  Bey scowled and said, “What the hell’s all this about?”

  Homer turned his eyes to his military head. “Isn’t it obvious? We need an elite corps here in Tamanrasset for major developments, but we also need a desert camel corps to protect outlying installations. The goums won’t be able to defend against major attacks but their very presence will be a warning. They are representatives of El Hassan. They will be issued ample funds and any who loot, or molest women, will answer first to his mokkadam, his headman, second he will answer to Guémama, and finally to El Hassan himself. Frankly, Bey, I’m worried about such projects as that of Ralph Sandel’s Sahara afforestation deal at Bidon Cing, there on the Tanezrouft crossing of the desert. Our enemies are going to want to knock out every Reunited Nations project underway. Such destruction will undermine El Hassan, possibly even be blamed on him. We’ve got to protect every effort now being made by American and other educated blacks to develop the country.”

  Isobel was looking at him strangely. She said, “You mentioned back there, that Guémama was to take over the initial training
of our new forces, until the return of you and Bey. Where do you expect to be, Homer?”

  He sucked in air before reaching down into a briefcase which leaned up against the chair in which he sat. He came up with a small box, opened it and brought forth something wrapped in tissue paper. He unwrapped the paper and stared down at the gruesome contents, as did the others. Isobel turned her head in feminine rejection. It was a severed finger and on it a gold college class ring, which most of those present recognized.

  Homer said emptily. “When we first decided to attempt to take Tamanrasset, Bey was sent down into Teda country to raise a column; Kenny was sent into Nemadi, since he was the only one of us who spoke the dialect of Hassania. Elmer was sent up into Chaambra country for the same purpose, though there El Hassan has thus far met the strongest opposition. Isobel, Cliff and I took on the recruiting of the Tuaghi.”

  He pointed at the severed finger. “I received that the same night that we completed the storming of the fort. It came from Abd-el-Kader, an old foe, and leader of the Ouled Touameur clan of the prestigious Ouled Allouch tribe of the Berazga division of the Chaambra nomad confederation. Obviously, Elmer Allen has been captured. Whether or not he is still alive, we can’t know. However, it’s most likely that he still is. He is of more value to Abd-el-Kader alive than dead. Being able to display as a prisoner, probably in chains, one of the closest followers of El Hassan is an emblem in his turban. Since then, there have been new developments.” He turned to his Vizier of Education. “Jimmy, give us the word on the Mahdi.”

  Jimmy Peters thought for a moment, then began slowly, “It’s a Moslem religious tradition something like that of the coming of the Messiah in the Jewish faith. Supposedly, Mohammed declared that one of his descendants would come and fill the earth with equity and justice and would bear the name of al-mahdi. Some Moslems claim that he has already appeared, in the same manner that the Christians claim that Jesus was the Hebrew mes-siah, while the Jews deny it. Over the centuries, various leaders have appeared on the Islam scene and claimed to be the mahdi. The most recent, Mohammed Ahmes, a Sudanese, in a period of less than two years, conquered an empire larger than Texas, Alaska and New Mexico combined. It was his forces who defeated the British-Egyptian army of ‘Chinese’ Gordon and captured Khartoum. It was several years after his death that the British finally defeated his followers.”

  Kenny said impatiently, “What the hell’s all this got to do with it? What’s it got to do with the pickle Elmer’s in?”

  Homer Crawford looked over at him. “Abd-el-Kader has proclaimed himself the mahdi and calls for ajedah, holy war, against El Hassan. If he’s allowed to continue, half the marabouts in the Moslem countries bordering the Mediterranean will rally to him. They know goddamned well that El Hassan’s movement will ultimately be their kiss of death. They live in the Middle Ages. Everything that needs to be known is in the Q’ran, no other books are needed.”

  Bey had been thinking about it. He said musingly, “We’ve got to strike fast, before this spreads. He’s got to be squashed before he rallies too many followers. We already know his message. He’s in favor of returning to the good old days. The days of the razzia, the days of looting the sedentary centers, the oases. The days when the Chaambra nomads controlled most of northwest Africa.”

  Homer said, “What did you have in mind, Bey?”

  “Strike fast. We’ll send a flying column up into Chaambra country. A thousand of our best men. We’ll hit him before he can get organized.”

  Homer grunted sour humor of rejection. “Some field marshal you turned out to be. Where’s your sense of logistics, Bey? We’ll push a thousand men, with their equipment across the desert? How? We haven’t got enough motorized transport, to begin with, and even if we had, there is no direct route from Tamanrasset to northwestern Algeria and Chaambra country.”

  Bey scowled, almost sulkily. His opinions were almost invariably taken when it came to matters military.

  Homer went on. “Suppose the Arab Union supports Abd-el-Kader and sends out a couple of bombers, surreptitiously, and they spot us on the reg, on the roads where our motorized transport, those that aren’t hover vehicles, must travel. One small fission bomb would finish off the whole so-called flying column. And they could debate in the Reunited Nations forever, and who could prove who dropped an illegal fission bomb in the wastes of the Sahara?”

  Bey said grudgingly, “I suppose you’re right, Homer. But what can we do?”

  Homer said, “This is a personal thing. Two old foes, Homer Crawford and Abd-el-Kader. Crawford and his team will go alone, in the same hovercraft they formerly utilized when operating for the Reunited Nations African Development Project. It’s built to cross the ergs. We can go directly and comparatively speedily, to the rescue of our colleague. It’ll be dramatic and there’s nothing that appeals to the nomad more. In one blow, we’ll end the mahdi movement and recruit thousands in the doing.”

  Kenny Ballalou closed his eyes in pain. “Man, you’ve really gone round the bend.” He added, as an afterthought. “Who all will go along?”

  Homer said, “This is a volunteer thing. I’d like to see you, Bey, you Kenny, and Cliff. Cliff wasn’t a member of the original team, but…”

  Cliff groaned and said, “I spent a hitch in the army. The one thing the old timers drilled into us was…”

  “We know, we know,” Kenny said. “Never volunteer for anything.”

  Bey came to his feet and said, “I’ll start equipping the hovercraft. Anything special, Homer?”

  Homer said, “Power packs sufficient to fuel us all the way to Chaambra country. We’ll head from here to In Salah, and from there to Adrar and then up to Beni-Abbes. But we’ll circle them all. We won’t stop for provisions, power packs or anything else. We don’t want any news of our coming to get through.”

  Kenny got up and stretched and said, “I’ll have to make my farewells to a little ol’ chick from the Tégéhé Mellet tribe. She’s crazy for me.”

  “Ha,” Cliff said, standing as well. “She must be crazy. I’ll get my gear. But I don’t see how this government is going to go on without a Vizier of Finance around.”

  When the three had left, Homer said, “That reminds me. Jimmy, Isobel, while I’m gone you two are going to be in charge. The story is that El Hassan and his viziers are in seclusion, meditating, working out the problems facing Ifriqiyah. Give the same story to the various delegations that are turning up from the so-called civilized world, and the journalists.”

  Jimmy Peters winced. “Suppose somebody invades us, or something?”

  “Repulse them,” Homer said, grinning.

  Jimmy threw up his hands in disgust and said, “I’m going to see about the damned stationery. I have a sneaking suspicion that the El Hassan government, without El Hassan, is going to be doing a lot of paperwork.”

  He went on out and Isobel and Homer were alone. They had both come to their feet as the others left.

  Isobel came up to him and put both of her hands on his shoulders and looked full into his eyes. She raised herself on tiptoes and put her mouth to his.

  Afterwards, she said, “Homer. Come back, darling.”

  He smiled at her ruefully. There had been no time in their relationship for the potential romance between them, though both were aware of its existence.

  He said, “After that, how could I do otherwise?” He kissed her again. “I’ll be back, Isobel.”

  VIII

  SEAN RYAN

  Sean Ryan, Megan McDaid and Bryan O’Casey were killing time sightseeing in Algiers. Sean Ryan had stopped in the Algerian capital for a couple of hours once, on his way to Port Said and a Middle-East job, but had spent the time in a harbor bar. Megan had never been in Africa before at all. But Bryan O’Casey knew the town fairly well.

  O’Casey said, “Let’s see what I know about Algiers. Not much. The Arabs used to call it Al-Djezaor, a description of all those little islands that cluster in the harbor. It was the Turks that linke
d them to the mainland with a long dyke, which they later fortified. When the French took over, they couldn’t pronounce it so they changed it to Algiers. Damned if I know how old the town is. Probably Hannibal, in his day, trudged up the staired streets to Charthaginian boites de nuit. By the looks of some of the dogs still plying their trade in them, they might have been the same ones that took him on.”

  “Why, Bryan,” Meg said. “How would you know what the local prostitutes look like?”

  He made with an exaggerated leer.

  Sean Ryan looked at his watch, as they began to ascend into the Kasbah. “We’ve got about an hour or so.”

  They were passing a tourist restaurant, overly done in its efforts to project a native atmosphere, without driving away squeamish foreigners nervous about sanitation.

  Meg said, “I do wish that we had the time to have lunch. I’ve already read so much about couscous and meshwe.”

  They were all dressed tourist-wise, complete to the two men having cameras slung around their necks. Meg wore a tweed walking skirt and very sensible, thick-soled shoes.

  Bryan O’Casey said grimly, “We can get European food back at the hotel, French at that. You’ll have all the couscous you’ll want and more down in the interior. Complete with well-aged mutton, complete with rancid camel butter. And don’t ask me why it has to be rancid. They like it that way. They place it between the camel and the saddle and pack it along until it gets good and rancid.”

  He made a sweeping gesture with his hand as they ascended the stepped wide street, the only wide street in the Kasbah area, as they were to find. He said, “This is the famous Kasbah. Every old North African city has a Kasbah, but this is the famous one. The Berbers and the Arabs after them used to build their towns on hills like this for defensive purposes. Now it’s the slums of the city, populated with Moors, Arabs, Turks, bastard Koolooies, blacks, people from all the races of Africa, the Middle East and the Mediterranean. Just smell it. Once in awhile you’ll get a whiff of the scent of myrtle and jasmine from some rich man’s garden, just enough to keep you from passing out. Talk about pollution.”