Operation: Sahara

by William Meikle

  "Away you go then," he said. "We'll no' keep a lassie where she's no' comfortable."

  "Speak for yourself," Wiggo said.

  The camel brayed, almost a laugh, in reply then was off and away, heading east in long loping strides. She was soon lost in the gloom. The canyon echoed briefly with the sound of her movement then fell quiet.

  They had a smoke and water break at midnight.

  "By my reckoning we're halfway to where this opens out to desert again," Banks said. "Then it's a couple of hours slog across sand to the oasis."

  "And after that?" Wiggo asked.

  "Two days west into the hills. Maybe three."

  "And the same slog on the way back, maybe with sick or wounded?" Davies added.

  "Aye," Banks said. "If you were thinking this is a cushy number, think again. If we push on, we could be at yon oasis by daybreak. I promise you a longer rest there."

  Banks' estimate proved about right. Four hours more in the ravine brought them to the point where it opened out again onto a sea of dunes. There was a darker shadow on the western horizon which he guessed must be the oasis, but that wouldn't be certain until daylight, and he hoped to be there by then.

  "Come on, lads," he said. "Last one at the bar gets the round in."

  -Davies-

  By the time they reached the oasis Davies' calves felt hard as rock and burned as if stabbed with a hot poker. His pack dragged with every step, threatening to tug him back and down onto his arse. Despite the fact that it was not yet full dawn the heat came in intense waves across the dunes. Every breath felt like hot ash in his mouth and nostrils and his head pounded with a hangover-sized ache.

  All of that was forgotten when they crested the last dune and looked down on the oasis.

  Davies' knowledge of deserts came mainly from old Hollywood movies. As such he had expected a small concave hollow ringed by palm trees with a wee blue pool of water, perfectly circular of course, in the center. Instead he looked down over a verdant valley the size of a major town. Yes, there were pools, yes they were blue, but there were scores of them dotted amid swaying palms and ferns in an undulating landscape pockmarked with rocky outcrops. A camel trail led down from where they stood and when Davies' gaze followed it led directly to a small clump of tents around one of the aforesaid pools several hundred yards west of where the squad stood. Lifting his head and looking up gave a view west past the oasis. A mountain chain shimmered in the dawn, twenty miles and more distant.

  Banks stopped the squad at the top of the dune and had them lie prone while he used his rifle sight to check out the camp.

  "No sign of movement," he said. "But maybe they're sleeping. You ken how much these Uni types like their kip. No sudden noises, lads. We don't want them spooked like yon camel. If we wake somebody up unexpectedly they might shoot first and ask questions later."

  The squad went down the dune in single file, taking care not to disturb the sand into an avalanche. They needn't have bothered; it was obvious long before they reached the camp that there had been trouble.

  Several of the tents were no more than tattered shreds. Clothing and equipment was strewn across a wide area, as if picked up then tossed aside. One of the tents, the largest of the group, contained two overturned trestles. A firepit in the center was long cold, the blood spatter on the inside walls and ceiling dried to a brown crust.

  They didn't find a single body.

  "Inventory," Banks said to Wiggo. "I want a record of everything here. Shout if you find anything that'll shed light on what happened."

  Davies went with Wiggo to the west end of the encampment while the captain and Wilkins searched around the main tent. They still didn't find any bodies but they found plenty of disturbed sand in a trail heading west, pointing directly towards the mountain range they'd seen from the dunes.

  Davies bent to examine the area.

  "What do you make of this, Sarge?"

  Scratched tracks, grooved and pitted, led away from the tents and off west, many of them, but neither Davies or Wiggo could conceive how they were made. There were no footprints, no camel tracks, just a tangled web of grooves and scratches.

  Davies looked up to the hills.

  "Whatever it was, it went thataway," he said.

  "Aye. And took something with it. I've got more blood here too."

  "What the fuck happened here, Sarge?"

  "Buggered if I know, lad. Let's hope the others have had better luck."

  Davies followed Wiggo back to the heart of the encampment and found the captain and Wilkins poring over a small cork board with a map pinned to it. Beside the map was a list of ten names, split into two clusters, six and four. An arrow pointed from the group of six off to a spot high in the mountain range to the west.

  "Looks like this group went ahead to suss out the area while four stayed here to make a base camp," the captain said.

  "But where are they?" Wilkins asked.

  The captain looked grim.

  "Look around you, lad. There's been enough blood spilled here to account for them. As for who, or what, did it, I'm open to suggestions. It wasn't a gunfight, there's no sign of a struggle. Whatever happened, it went down fast."

  "And they were taken off west, if we're reading the track right," Wiggo added.

  They went back to the spot where the tracks left the camp. The sun was up now and the heat was rising fast. The captain looked at the tracks and sucked his teeth. He looked up at the mountains, then at the sun.

  "You're right, Sarge," he said. "They went this way. We don't know whether they were taken alive or not but at least one of them was bleeding, so we'll hope for the best. I was planning on a rest here for the daylight hours, but I'm going to ask that we press on; if anybody survived, they could be in sore need of our help."

  Davies joined the others in mock groaning but like the captain they all knew it was the only choice. They'd come here on a rescue mission; sitting on their arses wasn't an option.

  It was going to be a hard slog; the trail rose upward out of the camp and within minutes they were on a rocky path that wended its way through the other reaches of the oasis and rose sharply into stony foothills with no places to provide respite from the sun. The only consolation was that the ground was firm underfoot and Davies was able to at least regain the practised loping stride that kept the pack from dragging at his shoulders.

  They climbed in silence for twenty minutes before the captain called for a rest break. He'd stopped on a flatter ledge. There were more of the scratches and gouges here, and more spatter of dried blood.

  "At least we're on the right track," he said.

  "Any idea where they might be going, Cap?" Davies asked.

  The captain explained about the old journal entry.

  "The description in there matches what we've done so far and where we might be going." He pointed off west. The mountains were closer now, shimmering in the heat.

  Davies thought he could just make out a darker patch that might be a ravine or valley but it was still too far to be sure. Whatever it was, it seemed like a long walk was yet ahead of them.

  They rested for twenty minutes, trying to find shade behind some of the larger rocks. Davies sipped at his water; it was getting warm and felt thicker on his tongue.

  "I could murder a cold pint," he said, and Wiggo laughed.

  "Well, you were last into the oasis, so the first round's on you," he said. "I'll have two."

  "And a packet of cheese and onion," Wilkins added.

  As usual even a bout of light banter did a lot for their spirits but they were soon dampened again.

  The captain called them to their feet. As Davies stood, he thought he heard a high whistle in the wind. He was about to remark on it when he saw the others had heard it too, and the sound quickly grew in both depth and volume into a loud screeching drone that echoed around the foothills only to die off as quickly as it had come.

  "What the fuck was that?"

  Wiggo did not look happy.
>
  "Fucked if I know. But I'll lay you two to one that it's the same bloody thing that took the people we're after. And I'll also give you even money it's a fucking monster."

  -Banks-

  Banks had to stop them before noon. The climb had been strenuous, the baking heat unrelenting, and if there was to be a firefight at the end of it, they needed to be in good enough shape for it. He found one of the few shaded spots in the lee of an outcrop and allowed the squad to flop down in it.

  "We'll stay here until dusk," he said. "Get some rest, sleep if you can. You deserve it; that was a long haul."

  "Shall we set watch?" Wiggo asked.

  "Same as before," he replied. "I'll take first dibs as I was last up out of my kip this morning. Get some water in you, get your heads down. If we crack on hard overnight my reckoning is we'll be there...wherever there is...by morning."

  Before bedding down they all ate a meal from their rations and washed it down with some freshly brewed coffee; he limited them all to one cup each, not knowing how long they'd have to eke out their water. Davies and Wilkins were asleep almost immediately, but Wiggo came to join Banks for a smoke in a shaded spot looking back downhill over the shimmering oasis on the horizon.

  "Do you think we'll find anybody?" the sergeant asked.

  "We'll find them. Whether we find them alive...that's a different story. There was a fuckload of blood back in yon camp."

  "Aye. That's what's got me thinking. Too much blood; somebody, maybe all of them, died down there. So why take the bodies?"

  "Don't dwell on it, Sarge. We'll find out when we find out."

  "Now you're starting to sound like auld Hynd," Wiggo said.

  "So I should. I taught him everything he knew."

  Their soft laughter echoed around them.

  It was answered by another whistling drone from higher up in the hills.

  Banks' watch passed uneventfully. There was no recurrence of the droning noise and nothing moved in the view over the oasis save the shimmering heat haze above the foliage. His thoughts turned again and again to the fate of the researchers but, as he had told Wiggo, they'd find out when they found out, and no amount of speculation was going to get him anywhere. Instead he allowed himself to fall into that half-dreaming, half-watching state that had served him well for many years on guard duties all over the world, trusting his instincts and reflexes to warn him if action was needed.

  He felt almost rested when Wiggo arrived mid-afternoon to take a spell, but fell immediately into sleep on laying down on his bedroll.

  He came out of it in darker shadow, woken by a recurrence of the droning noise. It was louder now, somehow more insistent, and seemed to come not from one particular spot but from both above and below them on the hillside.

  Davies was on guard, weapon raised when Banks joined him to look down the valley.

  "Trouble, lad?"

  "Buggered if I know, sir," Davies replied. "There was only one sound at first, then another joined it. The one down the hill is definitely getting louder."

  The noise had an unworldly, ethereal quality to it, slightly rasping and almost metallic, more like something produced by a synthesised sound effect rather than anything natural.

  Wiggo and Wilkins arrived to join them. The sound continued to increase in volume, the noise from below them joined now by an increasing chorus of overlapping drones from higher up.

  "Fuck me, it's a pipe band warming up," Wiggo said. That had Banks thinking again about the Victorian era squad, and bagpipes and abducted men.

  "Form up," he said. "And eyes open. I don't think it's friendly."

  They all had their weapons in hand and moved to stand in the open, back to back with each man taking a quadrant. Banks had the view downhill and it seemed to him that the droning sound from below had shifted off to his right among a tangled field of tumbled rock. The noise from above got louder, more frantic.

  If an attack is coming, it'll be soon.

  He saw Wiggo react, almost shoot and decide not to when several small rocks shifted over on the right and a trickle of sand fell between them. Then, as quickly as it had come, the sound faded and died, leaving them alone on a quiet hillside.

  "Whatever it was, it got past us," Davies said.

  "Aye," Banks replied. "And they had us outflanked and outnumbered. Why didn't they attack?"

  "Maybe we just got checked out?" Wiggo said.

  "Aye, maybe. And if that's the case, they got an advantage; they saw us and we didn't see them. We still don't know what we're up against here. What do you say, lads? Shall we crack on and see if we can see the rabbit?"

  "Lead on," Wiggo said. "But if Tim the Enchanter shows up, I'm for the off."

  Davies and Wilkins both laughed, but the allusion, like many of Wiggo's pop culture references, passed Banks by. He let it wash over him unremarked; he'd found that was usually for the best where his sergeant's attempts at wit were concerned.

  "Five minutes then," he said. "Get your gear. We've got more climbing to do."

  Dusk was settling on the hillside as they moved out again. They kept tighter order now, alert for any shifting shadows as they reached the edge of the foothills and entered the mountains proper. After an hour's climb he brought the squad to a halt again. They were on a ledge overlooking the oasis away on the horizon which was now merely a darker patch of shadow. Near the edge of the ledge was remnants of an old campfire, the circle of stones long gone cold.

  Long indeed, he thought. This must be where they lost the corporal, Jennings.

  "Smoke them if you've got them, lads," he said. "But keep your wits about you. Nobody more than six feet from anybody else at all times and if you need a pish, do it here. No wandering off."

  He looked up the hill at the trail ahead. It looked to be steeper up there, more precipitous, and he remembered the old journal mentioning areas of single file climbing. He searched in vain for an alternative route, some other way around, but it seemed the only way was directly up.

  "Okay, lads," when he finished his smoke, "one last big push and we'll be at the rescue site by morning. With any luck we'll be able to cadge breakfast off the researchers and start making our way straight back home."

  "Luck?" Wiggo said. "I've forgotten the meaning of the word."

  "To be fair, Sarge," Wilkins said, "there's plenty of words you never knew the meaning of in the first place."

  "I've got two for you, lad," Wiggo replied. "Bugger, and off."

  When they headed out a minute later, Banks once again took the lead.

  It got steeper almost immediately and they were soon into the single file climbing that was mentioned in the old journal pages. It never got to the stage where he needed to resort to using his hands for balance but it was a close thing in places, and he was all too aware that a momentary lapse in concentration would overbalance him and help the weight of his pack carry him backwards into a long, possibly fatal, fall down the cliff face. His whole attention was on the trail ahead and he never raised his gaze from more than six feet ahead at any one time, trusting his feet to follow.

  They climbed in silence in that manner for what seemed like hours while darkness fell around them, filling in the shadows to a greater blackness. Thin clouds scudded overhead, obscuring the stars and darkening the night even further, so much so that Banks was forced to switch on his gun light. He took care to keep it aimed where his gaze had been directed; no more than six feet ahead at any point. But now that it was illuminated, he felt much more exposed and had to remind himself not to speed up to compensate.

  He was so intent on concentrating that it took him several seconds to notice something new in the night, not a sound this time, but a smell, an acrid, acid odor akin to the tang of malt vinegar. It persisted for several minutes before it dispersed in the night air, but it had been so singular that Banks made a mental note not to forget it.

  You never know what might prove important later.

  The single file climb seemed to go on forever but
eventually, near midnight, they came to a high wide ledge that allowed them to stop and rest. Wiggo joined him for a smoke at the cliff edge. They looked down. Banks knew the trail they had taken was down there somewhere, and the oasis beyond that, but the cloud cover ensured that the view was obscured and there was only dark shadow below.

  "Give the lads twenty minutes, Cap?" Wiggo asked.

  "Make it thirty," he replied. "I need the rest more than they do. This would have been a damned sight easier if I was ten years younger."

  "I hear you," Wiggo said. "Ten years, a load of beer and a wheen of smokes certainly makes a difference."

  Banks laughed.

  "Ah well, at least we've got experience and wisdom on our side."

  Wiggo laughed in return.

  "Speak for yourself. All I've got going for me is good looks and charm."

  "I wouldn't give up the day job, Sarge."

  "Do you think I do this for the fun of it?"

  "Aye. I think we both do," Banks said and for once Wiggo didn't have a witty comeback; it had been too close to the truth.

  -Davies-

  Davies brought up the rear as they left the high ledge to continue upward. If his guestimate was right, they were now nearing the base of the darker area he'd seen from far below that he'd taken for the entrance to a valley. They must now be a couple of thousand feet higher than the oasis, and it felt like it; the night air was actually cool against his cheeks, and although they were working hard on the climb, he hardly broke sweat.

  There had been no further recurrence of the droning wails, for which Davies was thankful, for it had put the willies up him badly enough in daylight.

  If I heard it again up here in the dark I might shit myself.