John Robb - Zone Zero

“That’s not likely,” D’Aran answered. “This command area must be the most isolated in the whole of Zone Zero. There’s not much chance of the Arabs in it hearing anything about the coming explosion unless we can tell them.”

There was a bleak silence. It was broken as Vogel contorted over the hardness of his cape. Then Vogel said diffidently: “ Mon officier … the Sanna Oasis is only about twenty-five miles from here. There must be many scientists and technicians out there at this moment assembling the bomb. I think there will be some Arab labour, too, for I have read that such a weapon would be exploded from a high steel platform.”

“That’s probably true, sergeant.”

“And there will be a heavy Legion guard there, also.”

“ Oui , obviously.”

“Then, mon officier , as we are the nearest military post, will they not try to get in touch with us?”

D’Aran considered. Then he said: “I think not. There’s no reason why they should want to communicate with us so long as they don’t suspect that anything is wrong. And I think the High Command signal would have mentioned the fact if any contact had been planned.” I

There was a faint but clearly audible sigh of disappointment from some of the legionnaires.

Keith said: “There must be an Arab habitation at the Sanna Oasis—and we are supposed to remove them. When we don’t turn up the Legion commander at Sanna must guess that something has happened.”

There was a stir of interest at the logical conclusion. But again D’Aran had to give a pessimistic reply.

“I wish you were right,” he said. ‘“But I happen to know about the Sanna Oasis. It is not an oasis at all—it is no more than a name. There are wells there, but they dried up ages ago, so there is no Arab habitation anywhere near the place. So you see—we will not be expected to clear the population out of Sanna, for there is no population!”

Another silence.

Then a babel of voices.

“So we’re cut off!”

“Just got to spend a week here!”

“Trussed like hens!”

“Waiting to be murdered by the bomb!”

Sergeant Vogel restored order. The Dutchman forgot the discomfort of his cape. He ceased to think about the book on atomic power. He inhaled air into his considerable lungs and screamed a single word.

“ Silence !”

It was like a steam whistle tearing asunder the tortured air. It produced an absolute, a cloistered quiet.

And it was then that a key turned in the door.

Gallast stood in the threshold, two others immediately behind him. Despite his bulk, Gallast could suggest the attribute of cultivated courtesy. He was suggesting it now. He gazed around him with a hurt and bemused expression.

“Did I hear signs of panic?” he enquired of no one in particular. There was no answer. He continued: “I don’t want to make your period of waiting more unpleasant than it need be, for above all else I am a soldier and I want to observe the civilised rules of war… so far as that is possible.”

D’Aran twisted himself into a sitting posture against the wall.

“ Sacre bleu ! Is this part of the civilised rules of war! Is it civilised for soldiers to pose as civilians and seize an army post which was offering them hospitality? Is it civilised to plan for human beings such a fate as you have waiting for us! You do not know what the word means… you are a barbarian and you belong to a creed which embraces barbarism!”

Gallast was watching D’Aran calmly. Ostensibly, he seemed unmoved. But a faint twitch of pain momentarily etched into his face, and it may not have been caused by the injured finger which he was stroking.

“You speak wildly, lieutenant,” he said. “But you are very young and it is understandable. You think we are responsible for organised savagery against you. But isn’t that taking a rather limited view? Think again about that bomb which is to be tested… think of its destructive power. What would it mean if it were used against my people and we had no power of retaliation? Is it not our duty to do all in our power to discover all we can about it? Of course it is. And if the only way we can do that is through methods of ruthless audacity, can you blame us for using them? Would France, would any country, refrain from such measures if the whole of their existence were in the balance? Certainly not. But understand this. I personally get no pleasure out of contemplating your fate. Neither does it worry me. It’s simply a manoeuvre in an undeclared war. That you and your legionnaires are to die is a mere chance of war!”

A shiver seemed to spread through the cheerless room. There was no answer from any of the bound men.

Gallast continued in less precise tones: “But you’ll be wondering how you are to spend the remaining week of your lives. Obviously you cannot remain bound hand and foot for the entire period. So this is what I intend—you will be freed during the daylight hours only. In that time you will assist in the installation of the observation instruments. All the time you will, of course, be closely guarded. But… but if any of you has any idea of escape, or of damaging the instruments, let me say this—the man responsible will not be harmed!”

The pronouncement came like a stabbing electric shock. D’Aran said faintly: “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you will not harm…”

“That is what you heard, lieutenant. If a man tries to escape—and escape will be quite impossible—he will simply be brought back. He will not be harmed in any way. The same applies if he attempts any sabotage. But … one of his comrades will immediately be selected at random and executed …”

D’Aran had regained some composure, but he had to struggle to retain it.

Eventually he said: “That’s a new twist to a devilish technique.”

Gallast nodded.

“Quite so. It is my experience that men will always risk throwing their own lives away in what they conceive to be a good cause. But they hesitate to endanger the lives of their friends.”

He glanced at his wrist watch, then added: “It is now nearly nine o’clock. The ropes will be removed. You will have food. Then you will wait until the plane arrives.”

A vulture hovered over Fort Ney, wings flapping like the feathers of a battered fan. It cocked a cruel head at the tiny walls, at the ridiculously small compound building. Then it squawked its amusement—as they were all said to squawk—and wheeled away towards more serious affairs.

But its progress was disturbed.

A black dot, getting steadily larger, was coming down upon it from the vivid blue of the midday sky. As it formed into a definite shape of wings and body and snarling sound, the vulture turned in its course and sought refuge among some distant rocks.

Within the four-engine bomber Professor Daak nursed a violent headache.

He sat amidships and in confused isolation. A single—and not too comfortable—chair had been installed for him. And around it was a closely packed and secured miscellany of wooden crates. The professor occasionally took a hand away from his throbbing head to regard the crates with distaste. They suggested several days of hard and complex work. And, at the moment, he did not feel like work. He wanted nothing so much as to feel his feet on mother earth, then go to sleep in a comfortable bed.

In short, the professor was not used to air travel.

He had felt ill ever since taking off many, many hours before from a European airport.

Twice he had stumbled forward to the crew’s compartment with a request that they descend from the sub-stratosphere. The air pressure system was not in order, he declared. His head was bursting. But the crew showed lamentably little sympathy. After pointing out that they had received precise orders as to their flying height and route, they ignored his alternating threats and supplications.