John Robb - Zone Zero

There was a trickle of nervous laughter.

Then a legionnaire said: “Who’s going with you, mow officier ?

“Legionnaire Tragarth.”

The legionnaires said suspiciously: “Suppose Daak succeeds—what then? You’ll die of thirst. So will we.”

D’Aran shook his head.

“I don’t think so. If there is no explosion at three o’clock, we can be sure that many people will rush to Sauna at great speed to find what’s amiss. I will be waiting for them… I will tell them. Relief will soon reach you.”

He seemed satisfied.

D’Aran turned again to Daak: “We will carry water for you alone,” he said. “You are no great weight and neither am I, so I will ride a horse with you. We’ll do all we can to make it easy for you…”

He paused wearily, then added: “I never thought I’d be so interested in your health, professor!”

There was a tinge of grey on the edge of the earth. It changed to silver-white, then to orange. Presently, the tip of the sun showed over the bare horizon.

It was dawn, July the eighth.

D’Aran released one hand from Daak’s waist and looked at his compass. So far as he could calculate from dead reckoning, they were following an accurate, course for Sanna. And they could not be much more than a couple of miles away from the place. If the horses did not collapse, they would sight it very soon.

The horses…

They were one problem. They had drunk greedily of the salted water. And, as Daak had foretold, they had shown no immediate ill effect. But for the past two hours their hides had been twitching violently. Their mouths had turned white with foam. Occasionally they bucked and whinnied.

Daak…

He was another problem. D’Aran had to hold him in the saddle. He groaned with each jolt. Despite warnings, he had long since finished his water. D’Aran and Keith had watched longingly as he drank it. But they were glad that his thirst should be appeased. Everything depended on Daak.

But Daak was ill again. Very ill…

And in the fort…

A legionnaire who had not slept said to others who had not slept either: “They must be there by now. It’s dawn. D’Aran said they’d reach Sanna by dawn.”

“He said that they might—if the horses held out!”

“Never mind the horses. How about the pot-bellied professor! Is he holding out?”

“Still hours to wait…”

“God, I’m scared…”

“God, I’m thirsty…”

Keith’s horse died when they were less than a mile from Sanna. It stopped suddenly, forelegs splayed. Then it rolled on its side. Keith only just managed to jump away in time.

D’Aran reined his own mount. He glanced at the professor and said: “We’ll have to carry him ourselves. If this animal collapses it will fall on Daak.”

Keith helped them to dismount. Daak could stand unaided, but no more. He was as weak as a baby and in pain. But he had not lapsed into one of his deliriums. He was, thank heaven, still clear headed.

In front they saw the tall steel tower, the roofs of the huts. They sensed the desolation.

Keith took Daak over his shoulder. For ten minutes he stumbled with the burden. Then he stopped. Not because it was D’Aran’s turn to shoulder the professor. Not because he was unduly exhausted.

But because he saw the circle of barbed wire which surrounded the tower. And within the perimeter, the ruffled earth which could mean a minefield.

Slowly, Keith put the professor down. Then he said: “How are we going to get through that?”

D’Aran was smiling. “We are not, legionnaire, we are not! I think we might get through the wire, but the minefield, never. The area is a solid mass of buried explosives! Dieu ! I should have thought of this. I should have known that such a place would be protected!”

Daak got on to his haunches. Then, holding on to Keith, he got upright. He blinked in the direction of Sanna. D’Aran explained to him. When he had finished the professor’s oval face was palsied and glistening.

“You mean… I cannot get anywhere near the place!”

“That is so,” D’Aran said hoarsely. “If we had mine detectors and wire cutters we might manage it—if we had three or four days to spare. But we have not three or four days, professor. It is now eleven o’clock. We have precisely four hours.”

“You must try to get through—make a path for me!”

“Quite impossible, professor.”

“Then we must get back!”

“On foot! Are you capable of such exertion?”

“But—but we’ll die if we stay here. We’re on top of the bomb…”

D’Aran laughed.

“We’ll die if we run away. We would die if we were fifty miles from here. We might as well sit and wait. I suppose the end will be quicker for being closer.”

Daak’s face crumbled. He wept…

Wept as they squatted on the sand.

Wept as the sun rose to its zenith.

He was weeping when the Arabs came.

The Bormone traders were justly outraged. One of their number had been killed in Fort Key. Others had been wounded. And why? Because they were making a simple investigation of a seemingly deserted fort.

It was infamy without precedent!

It called for revenge against legionnaires whom they had thought were friends. Yes, the Bormones told themselves, they may have to wait. But one day they would strike against the Legion. Only in a small way, of course. The days of the great tribal revolts were over. But they would kill at least one soldier…

Meantime, they rode towards the next village to sell their wares and tell of the outrage.

Their route took them through the Sanna Oasis.

They halted their horses and mouthed their astonishment when they saw the steel tower which had never been there before.

And the circle of cruel wire. And the empty huts.

But their puzzlement changed to fury when they saw the three figures squatting near the wire. Three men. Two of them in Legion clothing.

This was indeed the working of providence! The infidels had been delivered into their hands…

They loaded their muskets.

Keith saw them first. He nudged D’Aran. Together and without much interest, they watched the horsemen approach.

D’Aran said: “We can’t do anything to save them, either. But we may have company when we die.”

Keith was shading his eyes. He said: “They look as if they mean business with those muskets… God! They do mean business! And I know why. I recognise some of them. They are the traders!”

Daak ceased weeping. The tears were dried by the impact of a new terror.

He screamed: “They’ll shoot us!”

“Almost certainly,” Keith assured him. “But I don’t suppose you have any very important plans for the future.”

Daak turned his face to the heavens in supplication. And as he did so, he became rigid. As though jerking himself out of a nightmare, he pointed to the southern sky.

“ Look ! Look !”

They followed ‘the direction of his trembling finger. And at the same moment they heard a steady, droning sound. The sound of piston engines.

Then they discerned the plane. It was high in the brassy sky.

The tribesmen saw it at the same time. They halted uncertainly, for they had seldom seen such monsters. They decided to move away. Vengeance could wait.

But one of them decided otherwise. He was a young Bormone who had only lately acquired his musket. He wanted to use it. He aimed it at the kneeling figure of D’Aran then pulled the rusty trigger, As he rode after the others he saw a man fall and was satisfied.

A ball shot had entered Daak’s defective heart.