Operation Mongolia (S-Squad Book 8)

by William Meikle

  They rested in the shade for two hours more. By the time the captain announced it was time to move out, the black line on the horizon was twice as thick as before. Donnie noticed the professor eyeing it warily.

  “Have you ever been here during a big wet spell, Professor?” he asked.

  The older man shook his head.

  “No, I’ve always been lucky with the weather—if you can call baking like a hedgehog in clay lucky. It’s never rained on any of my trips. But the first time I was here—twelve years ago now—the local man we hired as a guide was in abject fear of any kind of cloud at all and refused to come down off the escarpment to the plain if it even looked like it might drizzle.”

  “Some local superstition?” Captain Banks asked.

  “I have no idea,” the professor replied. “We could never get him to talk of it. All we ever got out of him was two words in his own language—olgoi-khorkhoi—we never did find out what it meant and when we returned the next year, we had a different man with us.” He pointed at the line of dark cloud. “I’ve never seen anything like that. It looks nasty.”

  Donnie stood by Captain Banks’ side as they looked ahead of them across the plain. There was a larger rocky outcrop some miles ahead of them, a black outline against the horizon. Banks spoke first.

  “If I’m gauging the wind right, we’ve got time to get over there. Let’s hope there’s more shelter than we’d get here.”

  He looked up to where Donnie was now lifting himself into the saddle atop the camel.

  “See if you can coax a wee bit more effort out of the beasties, Doctor Reid,” he said. “These things make my grannie’s auld milk cow look like a Derby winner.”

  Donnie laughed.

  “Speed isn’t really their thing,” he said, “especially with older models like this one. Besides, they might be slow but they’ll still be alive out here long after we’d died of dehydration or exhaustion.”

  Banks laughed.

  “But it’s speed we need right now, not stamina. We’ll be moving at a fair clip. So don’t fall behind. If yon storm really starts to move towards us, we might have to get a move on faster still.”

  *

  The captain was as good as his word and worked his men hard over the rocky, uneven ground. Donnie didn’t know how they managed it—he’d struggle to even carry the huge rucksacks each man had on his back, never mind trot at speed over rough terrain while carrying a rifle. Plus, it was a desert, it was hot, and there they were almost running, wearing camouflage suits, helmets, and flak jackets. It made him too hot just to look at them.

  Meanwhile, the camels picked their way along in their own stately fashion, not quite as fast as the soldier’s walking pace but not slow enough to cause the captain serious concern as long as the cloud on the horizon didn’t creep any faster. Conversation was kept to a minimum and even Gillings who was normally so garrulous and loud kept his silence as everybody watched the ominous cloud sweep in a stately fashion across the sky towards them. After an hour, the outcrop they were heading for didn’t look all that much closer and the cloud now hung over it, filling almost a quarter of the sky ahead, casting the landscape below it in darker shadows.

  “Time to up the pace, lads,” Banks shouted and the men on foot started to ease ahead of the pair of camels that kept on their own sweet way. Donnie kicked his heels against his beast’s flanks and shouted ‘Giddyup’ but the camel paid him no heed, maintaining its almost funereal pace. The professor had a bit more luck with his animal and at least got it to follow slightly faster behind the soldiers, leaving Donnie isolated at the rear.

  No amount of kicking and cursing could get his beast to move any faster than it wanted to move, and Donnie was quickly falling behind the rest of the squad. By the time he’d smoked down another of the black cheroots, he was almost fifty yards adrift at the rear and the black clouds had gathered almost overhead. The saving grace was that the rocky outcrop was closer now and looking up, he saw that the soldiers were going to reach it in a few minutes.

  Rain started to patter around him.

  That gave his camel more impetus than any amount of cajoling had done and as if afraid of the rain itself, the beast put on a burst of speed. Donnie yelled out in joy then between one breath and the next was tumbling through the air as the camel shuddered once and stiffened as if it had hit a wall, its legs giving way beneath it.

  Donnie hit the ground hard, black and gray creeping in at the edges of his sight, and all he could hear were wild brays of a beast in pain.

  - 3 -

  Banks was bringing up the rear of the squad, following them at a run for shelter when he heard Reid’s yell then a loud bray, almost a bark of pain from one of the camels.

  He turned to see Reid hit the ground and roll and the camel fall flat on its belly as if hit from above by an invisible hammer. As Banks turned ‘round completely, the heavy spatter of rain became a downpour like the turning on of a multitude of taps. Reid was trying and failing to push himself to his feet.

  “Wiggo, get the others to shelter. Sarge, you’re with me,” Banks shouted and moved, knowing that his order would be obeyed. A wind got up out of the north to accompany the rain and he could hardly see Reid and the camel beyond the water running and dripping from his brow as he ran back towards them.

  Hynd was alongside Banks as they got to the fallen man. Reid was groggily getting to his feet but looked like he might collapse back to the sand at any moment. Hynd helped the man up while Banks checked on the camel. The animal was dead, gray glazed eyes open and staring as if in astonishment. Even through the rain, Banks smelled a hint of ozone and charred hair.

  “What the hell happened?” Reid shouted. The man’s eyes were clear and he rubbed at the back of his head, as if he’d taken a bump. He looked to be none the worse for wear for his tumble.

  Pity we can’t say the same about the camel.

  “Lightning strike by the look of it,” Banks called back. “Fetch anything you need urgently from the bags. We need to get to cover.”

  He watched as Reid got a satchel from the camel’s saddlebags. By the time they turned to head for the rocky outcrop, they were all soaked through. He thought he saw something move, the camel’s torso shuddering as if it struggled to take a breath, but that couldn’t be; the animal was most definitely dead. Then there was no time to think about it as a peal of thunder roared overhead and the rain came even heavier. All three of them broke into a run for cover.

  *

  Wiggins had at least found then a modicum of shelter up on the outcrop under an overhang on the south side in the lee of the wind and rain but with seven of them and a camel to accommodate, the ledge was cramped to say the least. At least the surviving camel was calm, showing no signs of alarm at the sudden death of the other, standing calmly while the professor managed an ungainly dismount.

  “Davies, take a look at Doctor Reid here,” Banks said. “Make sure there’s nothing broken and no concussion—he took a heavy tumble.”

  “Not as heavy as yon camel,” Wiggins said. “What the fuck happened?”

  “Lightning strike,” Banks said, echoing his earlier thought but if that had been the case, surely Reid would also have been fried—unless the saddle somehow insulated him? They were questions he wasn’t going to be able to answer without a closer examination of the dead beast and now that the rain was pelting down, it wasn’t going to happen soon.

  Davies gave Reid a clean bill of health then there was little any of them could do but watch and listen as the storm roared wildly around the outcrop. Wiggins managed to get the camp stove operating in a calmer spot against the wall and they were able to get some warm food and more coffee into them. Banks took a smoke when Hynd offered one and joined the sergeant in staring out into the rain.

  “It’s going to make the rest of the walk a mess, that’s for sure,” Hynd said.

  “It’ll still be better than Rannoch Moor in January,” he replied and the sergeant laughed.

 
; “Aye, but anything’s better than that. Hell, even Wiggins’ patter is better than that.”

  “Well, maybe I wouldn’t go quite that far,” Banks replied but he wasn’t really paying attention; he was looking out over the plain to the dead camel and the rain beginning to form a puddle around it as if it lay in a depression. He couldn’t get that final movement of its torso out of his head and the more he thought about it, the more he realized it hadn’t looked like a natural movement at all; it looked like something had pushed at the beast’s stomach, pushed outward from the inside.

  And now it was hard to see anything through the rain but even at the distance of some forty yards, it looked as if the camel’s huge body had sunk in on itself and was strangely deflated, like a punctured football. He was now wondering whether his diagnosis of lightning strike wasn’t somewhere wide of the mark.

  But what else could it be, out here in the middle of nowhere?

  *

  The storm raged on for several hours before showing signs of starting to wane. By then, the stink of the camel in their shelter was only being alleviated by their chain-smoking, although Reid’s black cheroots were almost as foul as the animal. Banks’ gaze turned often to where the other camel lay dead. It was almost centered in a deep puddle now, with water raised up almost drowning the body. That made it difficult to be sure but he was certain now that the body was considerably deflated, as if emptied from within.

  When the rain stopped and the cloud started to dissipate overhead, he should have given the order to move out immediately but instead, he walked out from the shelter and over to have a closer look at the dead animal. Reid and Hynd walked over with him and all three stood at the edge of the puddle, looking at the carcass.

  It looked to be little more than a bag of loose skin and jutting bones. Banks stepped into the puddle, planning to get a closer look but as if his foot had flipped a switch, the puddle started to drain away toward the center where the dead animal lay. The water gurgled as if falling into some deep chamber below. It took the remains of the camel down with it, slowly at first then faster as the water rushed away.

  Banks stepped away from the rim of the puddle as the camel’s head, the last thing to go, stared at him accusingly from empty eyes. Then it was gone, along with all the water, leaving only a mud-filled crater in the center of where the puddle had been.

  “What the fuck, Cap?” Hynd said.

  “Some underground chamber? An old river channel under the sand? It must be,” Reid added.

  “That might explain the water running away,” Banks said. “But it doesn’t explain what ate that camel from the inside out. Or what brought the beast down in the first place.”

  Once again, Banks had many more questions than answers.

  *

  “Funny kind of lightning strike, Cap,” Hynd said once they were back at the outcrop as they prepared to move out.

  “Funny kind of business all ‘round,” Banks replied. “But I’m not about to launch an investigation. We’ve got a long enough walk still ahead of us without worrying overmuch about a dead camel. Move them out, Sarge.”

  Banks allowed Hynd to lead Wilkins and Davies, then Wiggins and Reid, chatting amiably like old friends, between him, and the stench of wet camel from where Gillings sat half-asleep on top. The sun had passed well overhead now, beginning its long descent to their left, but they had plenty of walking yet between them and any further rest.

  “That storm has cost us hours we couldn’t really spare,” Banks said, loud enough for all to hear. “Let’s get a head of steam up, lads. We’ve got miles to go before bed.”

  He settled into the loping bounce he used for carrying his pack over distance. It was a gait perfected in weeks of training in the Scottish Highlands in weather far more inclement than here in the desert which, if it hadn’t been for the dampness in all his clothing, might almost be pleasant. Both he and Hynd had expected the ground to be damp, possibly even muddy, but the desert had been so dry the rain appeared to have mostly soaked straight through. The only puddle of note had been the one where the dead camel had lain and by the time they’d left it behind, even the mud there was starting to dry and crack. Looking ahead, the desert looked flat and barren, punctuated by darker rocky outcrops that gave the impression of having been dropped from the sky to splash in the sand.

  Nothing moved but them. A heat haze soon hung on the horizon as the last effects of the storm evaporated quickly in the dry air, making the outcrops of rock ahead dance and shimmer. The effect became so disorienting that Banks took to walking with his gaze fixed only five paces in front of him.

  He maintained his loping stride and fell into that almost restful watching state that came from many hours of carrying packs in boring terrain. He put one foot in front of the other, thoughts drifting, almost asleep in one sense but some part of him always wary, like a cat, ready for action should the need arise.

  *

  He was almost surprised to find they’d been walking for nearly two hours when Hynd called them to a halt from the front.

  “Something for you to see to the West, Cap,” he said when Banks walked forward to join him.”

  “What is it, Sarge?”

  Hynd pointed out into the desert. “Keep your eyes on a patch fifty yards out. Buggered if I know what’s causing it though.”

  Banks quickly saw what the sergeant meant; the surface of the desert was rising and falling like waves on an ocean. The phenomenon covered an area the size of a football pitch and the soft swish and whisper of shifting sands accompanied the rise and fall of the ground.

  “Professor? You ever seen anything like this?”

  Gillings, up on the camel and with an even better view, shook his head.

  “It’s a new one on me. Maybe that’s where all the water from the storm ended up? Could be that it’s running away below there, causing the movement we’re seeing?”

  “Sounds as plausible as anything I can come up with,” Banks replied, then noticed that the camel the professor rode on was trembling all over its body, its eyes wide with what looked like terror.

  “Whatever it is, it’s spooking your beast and as long as it’s over there, it’s not over here. Let’s move out.” He looked ahead. They were closing in on another of the larger rocky outcrops and now that they were nearer, he saw that this one appeared to be larger than the previous ones and showed signs of habitation, having a tightly packed cluster of wooden buildings perched like a hat on the summit. “We need somewhere to rest up for a couple of hours. Let’s see if the locals are friendly.”

  - 4 -

  Donnie had never driven out in this direction from their dig but he knew where they were; they’d had visitors over the summer who’d come across the desert and those herdsmen had spoken of a temple on the plains, a place of silence and ritual, closed to outsiders. Donnie thought of alerting Captain Banks to the fact, but the professor hadn’t said anything at the captain’s suggestion, so he let it ride. Besides, he wasn’t about to turn down a chance to get a glimpse of what was surely a place full of history and artifacts.

  They arrived at the foot of the outcrop ten minutes later then made their slow way up towards the buildings on the top. The pathway to the monastery wound in a tight spiral around the tall outcrop. Almost at the peak it came to a halt at an ancient wooden gateway flanked by twin pillars, polished tree trunks that had to have come from a very long way away from this arid desert. The large double door, closed against them, was intricately carved and polished smooth as if by the touch of many pilgrims’ hands. It rang, almost like a bell, when Captain Banks rapped twice on it with his knuckles.

  For long seconds, Donnie thought there would be no answer and they’d be left on the doorstep like Bible salesmen but finally, with a creak that echoed across the plain, the double door opened inwards and a small bald man in a purple silk robe stood in the entrance. He smiled, eyes twinkling but put a hand across his mouth when Banks looked as if he might speak. Only when he saw that s
ilence would be observed did he allow them to pass through. The small man seemed anxious despite his smile and hurried them all, camel included, through the doorway, closing it firmly behind them. He belied his stature by lifting a huge latch of wood into place to bar the entrance. Indicating that they should follow, he scurried away up a narrow path between dark, tightly clustered buildings. The only sign of other movement was the flutter of long red and yellow silk pennants high above, held by a forest of tall poles above the clay-tiled rooftops.

  The wood from which the whole place had been built looked almost black down here in the alleyway and it had been polished to a sheen that shone almost high enough to reflect their faces back at them. They ascended a long set of stone steps worn smooth by time and the feet of many celebrants and were led, finally, to the very top of the outcrop.

  They found what appeared to be the total populace of the monastery gathered in the tallest building, a high-sided temple, almost a pagoda, rising in three distinct floors above the outcrop. The monks, some thirty of them, were gathered together on the lowest floor area, a cubic space with a deep circular eight-foot diameter well sunk perfectly in the center of the floor. All of the gathered monks proved to be as equally bald and diminutive as the one they’d already seen and although all were smiling, Donnie sensed the same nervous tension in them all.