He saw rifles thrown onto the sand where frightened Tau regs dropped them in their mad dash for their lives.
Stapler burst through the bushes surrounding the well.
Catsup Kellogg dropped to the ground and shoved her weapon through the brush, covering the gunny. Jones dashed into the clearing before he realized he had run out of cover and just as quickly rolled back into the bushes.
Sheila Anne Forester stood at the well, casually drawing water and filling the canister. Stapler was certain he heard her humming.
Four Taureg natives lay around the well, two at her feet. A huge Taureg, dressed in a flowing black robe, crashed through the bushes on the other side of the well, screaming. The Bedouin jerked a curved knife from beneath his robe and ran toward Sheila, raising it as he neared. The oodalooping sound the native made by trilling the tongue against the roof of the mouth caused Miss. Sheila Anne Forester to turn her head toward the charging giant. How in the hell do they do that? Stapler wondered.
Stapler raised the M-16, but she was in his line of fire.
“Damn!” Stapler shouted. He charged, running as fast as the shifting sand allowed, his combat boots sinking in the sand, slowing his advance. Stapler brought his bayonet level with the native’s midsection. He screamed as he ran, hoping to draw the man to him and away from the unarmed young woman. The native glanced at Stapler, trilled louder with the knowledge that Stapler was too far away to stop him from killing the demon girl. The Taureg raised his knife for the downward slash as he closed the last few feet.
Stapler shouted at Sheila, “Get down!”
She glanced at Stapler and set the gallon jug on the rim of the rock well beside the other gallon container.
The Taureg stopped his trilling long enough to scream something in dialect Arabic.
Sheila took two steps back as the man brought the knife down, the blade barely missing her. She grabbed the man’s arm, twisted it under and back. Using his own forward momentum, she stuck her foot out, pulled the knife arm down and around to flip him in the air. She twirled around as the attacker was in midair and jerked the arm toward her. She leaned onto one leg, lifted the other, and slammed her foot into the attacker’s stomach as he tumbled down. A loud, short grunt escaped from the native.
He landed on his knees. His arm hung at an unusual angle.
He grabbed a couple of times for the broken arm. Sheila stepped forward and karate-chopped him across the neck.
His eyes rolled back, and he fell forward, spreadeagled and unconscious, his head bouncing off the rocky sand surrounding the well. “I told you I would pay for the water, asshole.”
Stapler had slowed his run and stopped in amazement as he watched the last few movements of Miss. Sheila Anne Forester.
Sheila picked up the two water containers. “Thanks, Gunny Sergeant,” she said, taking a deep breath. “They not only don’t take American Express here, neither do they take Mastercard or Visa.”
Stapler heard moans emerging from the four other Tau regs on the ground. “You did this?”
She tilted the water container back and took a deep drink. “Yes, I did. I tried to explain, but they wouldn’t listen.
Something about women really bugs the shit out of them! Stupid animals. You do not want to know what they tried to do! They tried to tear my clothes off. How crass!”
She grinned and — handed the water container to Stapler.
“You may want to give this to your men, Gunny.”
One of the Tauregs raised his head. Stapler cold cocked him with the butt of his M-16. “Stay down.”
“Very good, Gunny.” Another one reached up suddenly and grabbed Sheila by the ankle. She spun around and kicked back with the free foot, catching the man on the nose. Stapler heard the cartilage break. The man moaned and fell back on the ground. Across the oasis, the sound of shooting slowed and a couple of seconds later stopped.
He looked at the men on the ground. “You did this?” he asked again incredulously.
“Yes. Hard to believe, I know, Gunny Sergeant. But, you know, once a bitch, always a bitch. And I am a mean bitch, Gunny.” Her eyes sparkled. “But you should be happy. I’m the only one you’ve got.” She hoisted the gallon jug again and drank deeply. “Not Evian, but it’ll do.”
Lieutenant Nolan emerged into the clearing. From the bushes, Catsup and Jones walked out, their M-16s on the five Tauregs who were beginning to regain consciousness.
Lieutenant Nolan looked around at the prisoners and nodded to Stapler. “Good work, Gunny. Five?”
“Sir, I didn’t—”
“I wish I could have been here to help you. I am impressed.
Sheila, are you all right?”
“He didn’t do it. Wonder Woman did it. I ain’t never seen anything like it before,” Catsup Kellogg said, her eyes admiring the young woman. “How in the hell did you do it?”
“I assure you, it was nothing. Just a lot of ballet with about ten years of martial arts training. My father figured with my attitude, I had better have some way of defending myself. I never expected to have to fight for water.”
“Well, if you had been a little more patient, Miss. Sheila Anne Forester, you wouldn’t have endangered our lives or yours. You may even have saved some of the enemy casualties we dealt tonight.”
Stapler turned and left the clearing. He walked through the oasis, directing his Marines as they sanitized the area.
He found Corporal Heights near the far end of the oasis with seven prisoners under guard. The trucks burned.
“What happened?” Stapler asked, pointing at the trucks.
“Asshole here set them on fire before we could stop him.”
“Take them over to the well and see what the lieutenant wants to do with them.” Heights nudged the prisoners forward.
“And don’t let him kill them,” Stapler whispered.
“We don’t kill prisoners … as a general rule. Bad for morale, Corporal Heights, not to mention the CNN factor.”
“Abercombie, you and Garfield hightail it over the ridge and tell those oil riggers to get everything and everyone down here.” He looked at his watch. “We have about eight hours until daylight. I want us to be loaded and out of here before then.”
“Sure thing, Gunny,” Garfield said.
The two Marines started double-timing out of the oasis and toward the slight hill where the civilians waited. “And be careful, you two!” Stapler shouted. “There are a bunch of confused fanatics out there, not to mention the oil riggers.
Don’t get yourselves shot!”
“We will, Gunnery Sergeant!” Garfield shouted back as the two disappeared into the darkness.
Stapler walked to where the khaki-uniformed soldiers had set their tent. His eyes shifted back and forth, watching for that lone enemy who failed to understand they had lost. Stapler squatted with his M-16 across his knees, opened a trunk, and rummaged through it. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he would know it if he stumbled over it. He wadded up an Algerian flag and stuffed it inside his shirt. Might as well take a souvenir home for Carol. Visions of burning credit cards, caused by too-fast trips through the reader, crossed his mind. He picked up a couple of cans with photos of dates on the front and Arabic writing on the side. He’d better make sure they had toilet tissue if they were going to eat this; then he remembered the briefing about the left and right hands.
A noise like a cacophony of gelded donkeys caused the Marines to lift their weapons and point toward the source.
Out of the darkness came Private Raoul Gonzales and Private Cowboy Joe-Boy Henry, leading a line of six camels into the campsite.
“Look what we found, Gunny,” Joe Boy said. “Hot dang. No more walking now.”
“What the hell are they?” Kellogg asked, walking around the animals. She stepped forward and touched the side of one of the camels. “Gross.”
“Oh, you know what the hell they are. They’re camels, Catsup. You never rode a camel before? I rode one once at
a carnival in Texas. Ain’t too hard. Ain’t much difference from riding a horse, I seem to remember, except you’re about ten feet in the air when you’re on the back of one of these things.”
Cowboy Joe-Boy and Raoul untied the tethers and wrapped them individually around the various trees and bushes. Joe Boy pulled a camel over to where Kellogg stood. “Watch this, Catsup,” he said, trying to impress the diminutive, dark-haired Marine. Catsup was the sweetheart of the company, even though she could fight with the best of them, outdrink most of them, and outcurse all of them.
Stapler watched for a few seconds and then returned to his scavenging. “Christmas,” he whispered he turned over a shirt to discover a pack of cigarettes. He shoved it unceremoniously into his shirt pocket. “Spoils of war.” He chuckled, his lips hurting in the process. He lifted a nearby canteen, opened it, sniffed, and then took a long drink of warm water. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
Joe-Boy reached up and tugged downward. “Be careful, Cowboy,” Catsup said.
“Be careful? Come on, Catsup. I’m from Texas. There ain’t a horse or animal living that a Texas cowboy cain’t ride.”
The camel bellowed as it knelt on its front knees. It paused a second and then bent its back legs and folded up on the ground.
“Watch this,” he said, handing his M-16 to Catsup. He crawled onto the back of the camel, shuffled his butt a few times to get comfortable, and then grinned at Catsup as if to say, See, piece of cake. Her smile caused his ego to soar and his uncertainty to diminish.
“Giddyap.” The camel remained motionless, its mouth chewing whatever it had in it. Joe-Boy kicked the side of the camel. Nothing. The camel remained sitting. “Probably used to Arabic or some other thing to get it started. I heard that camels ain’t as smart as horses.”
“Yeah, fine job, Joe-Boy. What you got is a living, breathing, chair,” Catsup laughed.
“Well, they must do something to get these animals moving,” he mumbled just before he gave the camel a swift, hard kick to the backside. “We just ha—”
The camel shot up on his back legs, throwing Joe-Boy over its head, his hand entangled in the tether. A loud cacophony of bellows emerged from the camel, sounding similar to a donkey. Then the animal rose straight up on its front legs, dragging Joe-Boy up over its neck to dangle him a few feet from the ground. A loud bellow tore out of the throat of the camel as the animal stretched its neck.
Joe-Boy pushed the tether off his trapped hand and started to crawl down from the neck. The camel began baying and spitting, shaking its head back and forth. It jumped, one foot at a time, its humped body rolling up and down like a series of clashing waves as one foot after the other left the ground, rotating one after the other. The second shake threw Joe-Boy through the air and across the campsite to roll up against a tree. The Marine moaned once and then shoved himself up quickly, brushing his clothes a couple of times. The camel bounded away past Cowboy, baying at the top of its lungs. Cowboy lunged for the tether, missing it by a couple of inches. Behind the stampeding camel, the other camels jerked their tethers loose and took off in pursuit.
“Grab them!” Cowboy Joe-Boy shouted, running toward the nearest camel just as it got the lead lose. He watched helplessly as it disappeared into the dark, baying as it followed the first camel.
Joe-Boy, Raoul, and Catsup took off in pursuit; Catsup laughing and ridiculing Cowboy.
Stapler started laughing and couldn’t stop. The remaining Marines laughed, too, and soon the whole site was full of laughing, crying Marines, slapping each other and pointing in the direction their three comrades had gone.
Glad to be alive. Across the oasis, the sounds of shouting and camels baying filled the air. No one wounded in the attack. Stapler had fully expected at least some wounded, if not one or two dead.
Stapler patted the golden cigarettes in his pocket and marched off in search of the lieutenant. He now had two packs. Life was good. Jones and Sterling passed him with the five prisoners, heading toward the burning truck where the other prisoners were being contained. The LT and Miss. Sheila Anne Forester were no longer at the well.
He walked around the well, deciding to head back toward the other Marines, when he heard moans coming from behind nearby bushes. Stapler pulled the M-16 up and slipped the safety off. Using his bayonet, he parted the bushes and leaned forward. The white shirt Miss. Sheila Anne Forester had been wearing came flying through the air and landed on his head. Stapler pulled it off and held it up. Heavier grunts and moans rose from the other side. He caught a glimpse of firm tits, a pink nipple, and the upper crack of tight buttocks straddling the LT before he pulled the bayonet back and let the bushes close around the two.
He tossed the shirt back in their direction, hoping it landed on the two of them, and stomped off angrily to where the other Marines were gathering. He grabbed the two gallon containers she had filled and took them with him, hoisting one for a drink.
“Oh, my God,” he heard Nolan moan as Stapler stomped out of the clearing, his teeth clenched, afraid they might hear him. God am’t gonna help you now, boy.
Looks as if she knows more than just martial arts, Stapler decided, as faint giggles behind him caused the hair on the nape of his neck to stand up. Nice tits.
CHAPTER 7
Al Jamal leaned on the edge of the conning tower, gazing down at crew members topside.
They waited patiently for their sea and anchor stations to be secured. He intentionally kept the sea and anchor detail manned longer than normal, wanting to put as much distance as possible between the Oran Naval Base and the Al Nasser before he spoke to them. This way, he knew where everyone on the boat was located so that when he told them what the rebel leadership wanted them to do and what he proposed, he’d be in position to respond to whatever happened. The Al Nasser wallowed slightly as it barely made way in the calm seas outside the port entrance.
The other crew members had stations within the skin of the submarine, waiting for the skipper’s orders. A captain grew to know his boat and his crew. He knew without anyone telling him that none wanted to go to sea again. The experience with the previous attack against the American naval force had left the crew scarred.
Captain Ibn Al Jamal of the Algerian Navy submarine Al Nasser saw it in the eyes and body language of his sailors and officers. Even if he ignored those signs, the exorbitant number of minor problems that surfaced after the submarine refloated told him the same story. Minor things that each sailor or officer hoped would be the reason or reasons for delaying sailing. He had told none of them about the mission yet. He had asked the XO to keep quiet, also. If he had told them before they left port that the rebel leadership had ordered them to attack the Americans again, he doubted he would have had a sufficient crew to get the submarine under way.
Unspoken, they all realized how lucky they were to be alive. Only Allah’s mercy saved them from the underwater damage suffered three weeks ago at the hands of the American Navy. For all the torpedoes they fired, not one connected. Religion and political views are fine things to debate from the safety of Parliament, but when mortality sweeps its scythe across your vision, they tend to become less important.
The tugboat remained reluctantly tied alongside and would remain there until released by him. The burly captain of the tug had already asked twice to be allowed to return to port. The man griped vociferously about having his small tugboat six miles out and argued it was useless for him to remain. The Al Nasser was doing fine. No engineering casualties, which was why the tugboat was along — to tow them back to port in the event the engines stopped. The engines were fine on the submarine. Ibn Al Jamal knew it. His XO, below on the bridge, knew it, and the chief engineer knew it. But Ibn Al Jamal had another reason to delay the tugboat. When he finished addressing the crew, then he would release the civilian craft to return to Oran.
Satisfied that the lines were put away and davits stowed, with the exception of the two connecting the tugboat to the Al Nasser, Ibn Al Jamal pressed the
intercom button., He asked his XO if everything was ready for securing the sea and anchor detail. The XO replied in the affirmative and gave the skipper a quick status report on the engineering plant.
Now was the time, he decided. He and the XO had discussed it, and between them, they identified several in the wardroom who would support the captain. He would discover how many of the remaining crew members would follow him when he told them of his proposal. Ibn Al Jamal knew the rebels would classify the act as treasonous and, if caught, he would be lucky if they only stood him against the wall and shot him. Treason is always transitory in a revolution. It depended on which side of the fence your loyalties fell. President Hawaii Alneuf would say he was a traitor. What would he say when Ibn Al Jamal shifted his loyalties back to the democratic elected government of Algeria?
He cleared his throat and began to talk in a low, methodical voice that sounded sad as he expounded upon the reasons for the revolution and the importance of Islam to the Arab world and their way of life. He reminded them of their heroics. And, though they had been unsuccessful in their torpedo attacks against the surface ships, they had forced the American fleet to move farther out to sea. They had accomplished every mission the new government assigned.
They had even survived a massive attack by the combined American forces after their torpedo attack.
They had done all of this without a single loss of life to the enemy.
Now came the but part. For all that, he had reassessed the government role in this grand new country called the Islamic Republic of Barbary and North Africa. “The concept is a great one, with many positive attributes. But we joined this revolution in the belief that our actions would bring glory to Islam. Instead, we have traded a democratic government that respected the right of religious worship for one that demands its own religious views and practices tyranny.” Ibn Al Jamal told how the death of his wife and the following years of loneliness led him to further embrace Islam. A combination of religion, loneliness, and a desire to serve Allah led him to fall for the false words of the rebels and violate his vows to the legitimate government and the nation.
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