Wings in the Spanish Legion by Lee Robinson

by Monte Herridge

  Frontier Stories, April, 1929

  In the Spanish Foreign Legion little matters save that a man be a stark fighter and dead game to the end. What his past may have been means nothing—usually. But in the case of Jack Aldridge, one episode from bygone days came to mean the difference between life and death—not only to himself, but to his comrades as well

  REATHLESSLY, dragging their roof, rolling back the crushing Riffian attack wounded with them, the handful of

  to its distant gullies and boulders, had made

  B legionarios crawled through the starlit possible their unobserved escape through the Moroccan night from the wrecked Hassi dynamited wall and given them their lone Axdar blockhouse, and the mangled corpses

  chance-in-a-thousand of winning to the help

  that had been their comrades. A complete that had not come to them.

  traverse of the machine gun on the blockhouse

  Back at the blockhouse a bomb went

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  off. Triumphant yells resounded from the “I’m ebbing, anyway; punctured past repair.

  encircling desert. Here and there in the Somebody kindly lend me his rifle.”

  darkness, the rifles of the tribesmen boomed

  “Nonsense, Norkoff,” responded

  and echoed. Suddenly, drowning them out, the

  Aldridge heartily. “You’ll get through all

  cocked machine-gun atop the blockhouse right. With only two wounded for us four roared its mechanical fury as the candle huskies to carry, it’s a cinch.”

  burned through the cord holding the weight

  “Our American comrade is right,”

  off its trigger. Viciously its bullets snapped

  assented Catozzi, of Ventimiglia. “I’m willing

  over the heads of the crawling men in a to carry one of you all the way to Sidi Dris, faithful effort to open the way before them to

  Norkoff, old boy. As long as any of us are left,

  the strong Spanish encampment at Sidi Dris.

  remember we’re all musketeers!”

  Frantically the refugees hurried on.

  “Though I’m only baggage, myself,”

  At the bottom of the slope, preceded

  agreed the lieutenant, as he rode off on the

  only by a crouching legionario with a Italian’s broad shoulders, “I say that sentiment bayoneted rifle, Jack Aldridge surged to his

  was well spoken. If we can get to that big hill

  feet with the slim body of the wounded called Djebel Messaua before they catch us, lieutenant on his back.

  we can hold them off and send a heliogram to

  In front of him sounded an Sidi Dris for help. The Riffians can’t locate us exclamation in the guttural Tarifit dialect of in the dark, off the trail as we are, and daylight

  the Riffians. A shot splashed the warm ought to find us close enough to the hill to darkness. Sping! went the ricocheting bullet

  make for it at top speed.”

  past Aldridge’s bowed head and over his

  Saving their precious breath, the weary

  crawling companions. Somewhere ahead there

  legionarios stumbled blindly on.

  was a sound like that of a cleaver biting its

  way through a quarter of beef.

  THE pastel tints of dawn were streaking the

  “Shake it up!” came a hiss from the

  sky, and the rocky cone of Djebel Messaua

  advance guard, and Aldridge trudged on into

  reared itself out of the flat desert a mile ahead,

  the unknown, as the machine gun on the fort

  when a bullet yowled forward over the

  behind roared to the end of its belt.

  hurrying little column and a faint detonation

  Behind them the rifles were popping

  floated up from the rear.

  again. Forward, the boulderless plain having

  Back there, nothing was visible. No

  afforded no protection to the attackers, all was

  more than a hopeless glance they wasted. One

  silent. For an hour they plodded on, with the

  of their first practical lessons in the Spanish

  fusillade growing in volume as it faded into

  Foreign Legion had been that, except in the

  the distance. Then came a series of dull furor of the cucrpo á cuerpo, the Moroccan is explosions, a medley of far-off cries, and an adept in the art of effacing himself on the when these ceased no further sound was field of battle.

  heard.

  Another bullet soon followed the first,

  “They’re in the blockhouse now,” and the weary soldiers took up a desperate commented the lieutenant, as the panting trot. Here was no place for a stand, as these refugees halted to rest and to listen for sounds

  veterans well knew. Such a move could only

  of pursuit. “In a moment more they’ll be on

  result in the loss of the hill and their only hope

  our trail!”

  of salvation.

  “You’ve got too much baggage,

  Bullets whined over them now in close

  campadres,” said a quiet voice in their midst.

  succession, and ever more spiteful was their

  Wings in the Spanish Legion

  3

  song, and ever louder the crack of the distant

  disappeared in the brown thicket. Bullets

  weapons. Looking back, Aldridge saw a snapped overhead, whined up from the desert flitting horseman dismount and fling himself

  floor. And now a nearer Riffian horseman

  prone on the desert, saw another far beyond

  galloped around the side of the hill.

  leap into his saddle and gallop forward.

  “Quick, Sollano!” shouted Aldridge,

  “Drop a man off in a minute, to cover

  dropping to his knee and cuddling his cheek

  my retreat!” he called, twining his arms in his

  against his rifle stock. “Get to the top of the

  rifle sling and lying down with his face to the

  hill, and hold it. Jump!”

  rear.

  His weapon spoke as Sollano bounded

  Calmly he set his sight, raised his past, and the Riffian came tumbling out of his sight-leaf and dug his elbows into the sand.

  saddle, his body strangely like some dancing

  With the slack of his trigger taken up, and his

  butterfly in the hooded, fluttering, djettaba.

  sights aligned, he tightened his grip on the

  Another Riffian and still another appeared

  rifle as the horseman’s feet struck the ground.

  behind him as his red sandals flew through the

  Crack!

  dust from his kicking bare heels.

  Down went the Riffian, his rifle falling

  Jensen was pumping steeljackets at the

  from his stricken hands. His horse cantered

  oncoming horsemen who now numbered,

  loosely across the desert as the other rider

  three—now four. As Aldridge leaped past

  galloped past the silent white figure and bore

  him, cramming a clip of cartridges into his

  down upon the hurrying legionarios.

  rifle, he saw Catozzi dragging his wounded up

  Over on the right, several more the hillside with Sollano rapidly overhauling horsemen appeared on the misty horizon. Still

  them through the dusty thicket.

  Aldridge held his pos
ition, gradually pivoting

  Behind a small boulder Aldridge

  around his left elbow. When the nearest rider

  plunged, drew a quick bead on his foremost

  jerked his horse to its haunches and stepped

  antagonist and jerked the trigger. Quickly he

  lightly to the ground, Aldridge squeezed the

  fired again, saw the black-bearded horseman

  trigger and a red-hot fang of steel and lead

  reel, and sprang to his feet under the horse’s

  bored the tribesman through the vitals.

  foaming nostrils and the yelling rider’s

  As the Riffian crumpled, Aldridge’s

  whirring scimitar.

  long legs twinkled across the smooth sand

  The American’s long bayonet flashed

  toward the hill which would mean either storm

  in the dawning sun as he sidestepped the

  or haven. Past his kneeling comrade, Sollano, plunging hoofs. Spanish steel clashed with

  he bounded, noting that the other horsemen

  Berber, hilts locked, and the scimitar whistled

  were Riffians and that they were rapidly into the thorns as Jensen darted past and knelt approaching. In front of him Swede Jensen

  with flaming rifle.

  was snuggling himself into his favorite prone

  A splash of red appeared on the

  firing position, while beyond, with Norkoff on

  disarmed horseman’s breast, and he toppled

  his back and his arm around the lieutenant,

  from the saddle like a thing of wood—just as

  Catozzi was struggling through a belt of desert

  his comrades thundered up.

  thorn that guarded the foot of the hill.

  Rifles spat from the hands of the

  Some of the desert riders were careering riders. Bullets ricocheted from the dismounting in a flurry of voluminous hard sand with unearthly shrieks. Somewhere garments. Jensen’s rifle was roaring. Sollano

  another rifle was roaring, and Aldridge saw

  was coming up with long strides of his thin

  Catozzi firing from a depression halfway up

  old legs. Catozzi and his wounded had the hill.

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  4

  Through the clutching shrubbery he

  “Caramba! A dozen! A hundred!”

  tore in the wake of Jensen. Far up the hillside,

  chattered the old legionario. “And more in scrambling toward the summit, he caught a

  sight. Listen!”

  fleeting glimpse of Sollano. Then Jensen was

  In the dead silence could be heard a

  firing from behind a boulder, and Aldridge

  dull boom-boom.

  bounded past him with a grin of triumph.

  “Spanish artillery at Sidi Dris,” went

  on Sollano, his gray beard wagging in

  THE rattle of musketry ceased as he plunged

  excitement. “A gunboat in the bay is also

  into the depression that sheltered Catozzi and

  firing. The camp is surrounded by Riffians.

  the wounded. Leveled rifles covered Jensen’s

  We’re cut off, that’s what. Cut off by battle

  dash up the slope. Out on the desert, leaving

  lines. No wonder they didn’t send help in

  their comrades where they had fallen, the answer to our rockets.”

  tribesmen were galloping into the hazy

  “And we have no more,” stated the

  distance.

  lieutenant calmly. “We’re in rather a bad fix,

  “How does it look, Sollano?” called

  unless some of the air force is at Sidi Dris. If

  Aldridge, unpacking the field heliograph from

  there is a plane or so, and we can get a

  his belt as Sollano’s twin-peaked cap appeared

  message through, they might help us.”

  against the clear sky over the summit.

  “You can’t use the heliograph,

  Sollano’s rifle barked, barked again as

  Lieutenant,” insisted Sollano. “The summit is

  a startled “caramba! ” rattled from his throat, occupied, as you see.”

  and a moment later he was crawfishing down

  “Let’s have suggestions, then,” invited the

  the hillside in a cascade of stones and sand.

  lieutenant. “We haven’t any food, and very

  “Get down!” he shrieked, in his little water.”

  pellmell descent. “Riffians coming up the

  “But plenty of ammunition,” spoke up

  other side—a mob of them. A battle’s going

  Aldridge. “Let’s hike out for Sidi Dris.”

  on at Sidi Dris. Knock their heads off as they

  “They’d finish us in short order,”

  peep over the top.”

  averred Sollano. “We’d better stay right in this

  All was rapid movement within the

  hole. You ought to have seen what I did,

  little hollow. When Sollano’s feet struck the

  compadre. I’m telling you, I got an eyeful.”

  bottom, and his rifle steadied toward the

  “I’ll take one look, at that,” answered

  summit, two other rifles and the lieutenant’s

  Aldridge, pulling his cap tighter on his head

  revolver pointed motionlessly in the same and starting to rise.

  direction. One rifle still covered the desert

  “Wait a minute,” cautioned the

  below. The sixth man, the Russian Norkoff,

  lieutenant. “Hadn’t we better stay here, after

  lay gasping his life away through a hole in his

  all, and get a little rest? Sidi Dris isn’t more

  chest received a dozen hours before.

  than two or three hours away. The more rested

  Aldridge’s rifle blazed as a cowled we are, the quicker we can make it. In the head centered in his sights. The head sank

  meantime, perhaps an airplane will fly over

  from view as another appeared, to be greeted

  and see us.”

  by a slug from Jensen’s barking weapon.

  “I’m hungry, Lieutenant,” grinned the

  Along the jagged crest of the hill, outlined

  American.

  sharply against the turquoise sky, no more

  HE WAS busily reaching out and breaking off

  heads appeared.

  handfuls of thorny branches. These he piled

  “Is that all of them, Sollano?” asked

  carefully in the deepest part of the hole and

  the lieutenant.

  wreathed an empty ammunition bandolier over

  Wings in the Spanish Legion

  5

  them. Finally he got out his matchbox and set

  desert charger.

  fire to the bottom twigs.

  Under their shaggy brows, Sollano’s

  “Cold, too?” asked the lieutenant sharp old eyes squinted toward the summit.

  quizzically.

  With his scarlet bandanna over Norkoff’s eyes

  “Like hell, sir,” grinned the perspiring

  and his arm crooked over his own, the Italian

  American, peeling off his tunic as a narrow

  snored. Whistling a lilting waltz between his

  column of black smoke grew slowly toward

  teeth, Aldridge compared the Moroccan heat

  the glaring sky. “I’m going to send a message.

  with that of the memorable August days when

  How’s for somebody to hold two corners of

  the Brooks Field “Laundry Board” ironed him

  my tunic?”

  out and a terse telegram summoned him to a

  “Something
I can do,” welcomed the still hotter session on the edge of the Mojave lieutenant, gingerly lifting his bandaged leg

  Desert with his long-suffering father.

  toward the fire. “Sollano, you take the first

  The sudden crack of Sollano’s rifle

  watch. The rest of you had better sleep a few

  brought all hands alert, fingers on triggers.

  winks, while you have the chance. Smoke

  Still watching the summit, the old legionario’s

  signal, Aldridge?”

  face crinkled in delight.

  “Yes, sir. Hold the corners, so! Now.

  “Right in the eye!” he chuckled.

  Over— off— over— off——”

  “That’s the place to pot a Morucho!”

  Insistently his voice droned on, the

  “Good work, Sollano,” commended

  tunic was whisked over the smoldering fire

  the lieutenant. “But I’m afraid our airplane

  and away, and a series of smoke blobs, some

  hope was a dud, Aldridge. They could have

  small and some large, mounted straight into

  been here long ago.”

  the motionless air.

  “Maybe they didn’t see our signal,”

  At length Aldridge kicked the fire out.

  suggested the American, heaping his faggots

  “Help. Send airplane,” he grinned, and rags together, lighting them and getting putting on his tunic. “With an airplane to

  out of his tunic again. “All right, Lieutenant,

  convoy us, we can go through to Sidi Dris like

  let’s try it again. Over—off— over——”

  a recruit through his enlistment bonus. The

  A sharp cry from Sollano halted them

  American Marines used airplanes that way,

  in the middle of the message. A rusty sardine

  over the jungles of Santo Domingo. I tried to