John Robb - Zone Zero

Then D’Aran made a closer inspection of the horsemen.

There was something about them…

All of them were big men. All hard-looking men. They did not look like a party of normal civilians, despite their pallor. And they held themselves very straight in the saddle.

Now the binoculars were no longer necessary. They were less than a couple of hundred yards away. He could hear the slow crunching of hooves and the faint jingle of bridle chains.

D’Aran turned and walked thoughtfully down the steps. He took up a position just inside the gates. As he waited he sensed that the legionnaires were watching him.

The horsemen halted immediately outside. The scent of the sweating animals spread heavily on the air. Vogel stepped forward, sweating under his cape. He smiled as he saluted.

“An expedition, mon officier ,” he declared.

“A what!”

One of the travellers laughed politely. Then he dismounted in a single, easy movement. He came towards D’Aran with an outstretched hand. He spoke fluent French with only a faint and indeterminate accent.

“Please don’t look so surprised, lieutenant! I am Doctor Gallast, and this is the Cracow University archaeological research party. We are making for the Sanna Oasis and we hope you will be able to give us shelter for the night.”

D’Aran took the open hand. The grip was as strong as his own.

He met the man’s eyes. Cold eyes. They did not reflect the smile which creased his large, darkly stubbled features.

D’Aran gave his name. Then said: “I’ll certainly do what I can for you, but as you can see, there’s very little room here.”

“I understand. You are a small garrison.”

“Only thirty.”

D’Aran silently cursed himself immediately he had spoken. The information on the strength of his garrison was not strictly secret. In fact, it would be fairly obvious to anyone who studied the dimensions of Fort Ney or considered the fact that a mere lieutenant held the command. But there was no reason why he should give the answer so easily.

Gallast made a deprecating gesture.

“Then we are sorry to trouble you. But if you would allow us to pitch our tents in your compound… the walls would give us some protection from the night winds.”

D’Aran did not answer the question. Instead he said: “I didn’t know there was anything to interest archaeologists at the Sanna Oasis.”

“Then you are mistaken, lieutenant. It is known that there are ancient Saracen remains there, although they have not been excavated. We are to make a preliminary survey.”

D’Aran nodded and thought quickly. He knew that occasional scientific expeditions went out into the desert, but he had never before heard of one visiting this area. Still, if these people wanted to dig at Sanna it was their business—so long as they did nothing to disturb the Arabs there. But he could not get rid of that haunting doubt—the feeling that something was wrong…

He said diffidently: “Are all of your party archaeologists?”

“Ah, yes,” Gallast said pleasantly. “But of course this is an arduous undertaking, so, as you can see, all us are young and strong.”

“Where have you come from?”

“We came to North Africa by way of Oran. Then we flew to Tala Baku. From there we have progressed by horseback and we are glad the journey is nearly over.”

He spoke calmly—perhaps a little too calmly. D’An said: “As a formality, I will have to see your passports.”

“Certainly. They are with the baggage on the mules. You will find them in order.”

“I’ll look at them later. Meantime, you are welcome to camp in the compound. But I’m afraid there is little I can do for you in the way of hospitality.”

They talked for a few more minutes while the horsemen entered the fort. Then D’Aran was introduced to them. Like their leader, they spoke French. But they were stolid, uncommunicative. After a party of legionnaires had been detailed to help with the tents, D’Aran went thoughtfully back to his room. Gallast had arranged to call on him in ten minutes with the passports.

A call signal was buzzing faintly through the radio head phones. D’Aran heard it immediately he entered the room. He was surprised. It was unusual—a signal to be received outside the routine hours. And it was extraordinary that it should come through at such power.

He sat at the table, whisked off his cap, put on the phones. Then he pulled the Morse key towards him, giving an answering recognition call.

There was no difficulty about receiving this message. Each long and short buzz was of pristine clarity. D’Aran’s pencil flew over his pad of paper as he took down the letters. In three minutes it was finished. He tapped out an acknowledgment. Then he went to the desk. He unlocked a drawer, took out a slim, leather-bound cipher book. With that at his elbow he started to decode.

The first few words gave him a minor shock. The message had been transmitted direct from the Legion staff headquarters at Sidi Bel Abbes.

No wonder it had been received so easily! The military radio station there was the most powerful in all French Africa.

D’Aran felt a quiver of excitement as he worked. And his hands were shaking when he finally threw down the pencil and read the result.

From secretary to High Command , Sidi Bel Abbes . To officer commanding Fort Ney . Priority absolute . Thermonuclear test explosion to take place near Sanna Oasis at 15 . 00 hours , July 8 . All civil populations in your command area to be evacuated by midnight July 4 and directed to Tuggurt reception camp . Danger area known as Zone Zero . Extent : 100 miles square from latitude 20 and longitude 3. You will evacuate fort at 22 . 00 hours , July 6 , and take up protective positions behind Keeba foothills …

There was more of it. It consisted of advice on how to dig in behind the hills (which lay thirty miles north of the fort) so as to avoid the enormous heat radiations. There was a warning to stay under cover for at least three days after the explosion. Then the garrison was to return to the fort and resume duty there—if it was habitable.

But if the fort had been destroyed by the explosion, they were to link up with K Company—a small legion force based some two days’ march west. There they would receive further orders.

D’Aran’s nervous tension gave way to bewilderment. Then annoyance. He had only a hazy knowledge of nuclear physics, but it was obvious that this was to be the most devastating man-made explosion ever attempted. Preparations for it must have been going on for months. Yet—since this was June 29th—he had been given less than nine days’ notice…

And he had only a week in which to persuade several hundred scattered Arabs to move to the far distant Tuggurt—if they would be persuaded.

“Preposterous!” he said aloud. “The Arabs will certainly give trouble. They won’t understand. It can’t be done in the time.”

But within him, he knew it would have to be done. And he realised that there were many other Legion outposts in Zone Zero which were almost certainly receiving similar orders at this very time. Each of them would have a commanding officer who was just as baffled and annoyed as he, D’Aran.