John Robb - I Shall Avenge!

For a moment it seemed as though she was going to strike him. Her small round breasts were heaving visibly as she fought to control herself.

She said with an effort: “You are a legionnaire, eh? But I think you are also an English aristo . Well, understand this—we could easily change that insolent tongue of yours. We could reduce you to what you really are—a snivelling, decadent wretch. But I think it is not worthwhile to bother now. I will be there to see you whine for mercy when you face the rifles in the morning.”

She looked again out of the window. The column had almost passed. The rear end, with the horse transport, was coming into view. She glared at it for a moment, then she smiled cruelly and pointed to the Red Cross wagon.

“See…! There is a symbol before your eyes! A symbol of the decadence of which I spoke! There is your commandant. Oh, I have heard of him. Heard that he is forever soaked in brandy. And now, look! He cannot even lead his men in their final shame. He is helpless with drink…!”

She broke into an ugly laugh, a finger still pointing to the wagon.

There Rex and Pete saw the cap that could only belong to Colonel Jeux. And they glimpsed, too, a bottle inside the awning.

They turned away, her laughter still in their ears.

And they heard her say to Adaa: “Put a strong guard on the barracks. The place will be occupied properly in the morning. It is valuable and I do not want to see it torn to pieces.”

As Adaa—who had become remarkably docile—rolled weightily away, Annice said to Rex and Pete: “There is one other formality. The civilians know little of what has been happening. They do not even know why they have been held captive. But now I am going to tell them. And I am going to tell the men that they will have to shoot you—if they wish to live. Come—you are going to witness the interview…”

She moved out of the door. Rex and Pete were pushed after her.

Lamps were produced by the Touareg guards as they approached the cellar. When the door was unlocked their light revealed a sprawling conglomeration of humanity.

The men, who had been talking, stared curiously at Annice and furiously at the Touaregs. Then, seeing Rex and Pete, their faces momentarily cleared. They were about to express relief at seeing the Legion—until they saw that their hands were bound. Then they gaped in futile astonishment.

Annice waited until all were fully awake. She seemed oblivious of the heat and the rancid atmosphere of the place. She stood very still. And she paid no attention when several of the men started to demand an explanation.

Then, when the men had realised the uselessness of talking, she began to speak. She did so quietly, but vibrantly. The hostages gazed at her as if she were an uncanny phenomenon. At first their features reflected disgusted disbelief as she told them that the garrison had gone—and why. But, as one cogent sentence followed another, their demeanour portrayed sickly horror.

Then, turning specifically to the men, she said: “These two legionnaires came here in the hope of liberating you. They will confirm all that I have said. Ask them.”

There was an uneasy silence. Then a little man who had forgotten to replace his dentures hissed: “Well—is it true?” His tones contained an indirect plea. He wanted to hear that it was not so. That it was all some outrageous mistake.

Rex hesitated. There seemed no point in avoiding the issue. He nodded.

“Yeah—it’s right enough! The garrison has quit so as to save your lives.”

“But even now—what guarantee have we that we’ll not be done to death?”

“None,” Rex told him reluctantly. “But you have a good chance now. You would have faced certain death if the garrison had stayed.”

Annice nodded. She was enjoying the interview, and she was well satisfied with its progress.

She said: “But the American has not told you of the one final condition for sparing your lives. Since he is sensitive about it, I will do so. You, the men here, will shoot them in the Legion barracks at eight o’clock this morning!”

By now the hostages were beyond any capacity for incredulity. They absorbed the statement with the sluggish reluctance of a waterlogged sponge. Then, after several seconds, they reacted.

An important and well-nourished looking man who was on some obscure committee of the United Nations, pushed his way forward.

He said: “I can only think, madame , that you are a criminal lunatic. But in any case, you will be severely punished for this burlesque. All of us here are either tourists or residents in Sadazi. We are not murderers. And certainly we would not murder two soldiers who attempted to get us out of this place.”

“As you wish. You may keep your principles intact and lose your life, if you feel that way. But you and the others will each be given a rifle and one round of ammunition. At a signal, you will be ordered to fire at the legionnaires. Those of you who do not do so will die quite painfully.”

The Man With Asthma had been coughing into a handkerckief. He had no hair and he blinked through thick glasses.

“I refuse! 1 won’t do it!”

“We shall see. I mentioned a painful death. Perhaps you would like to know the details. I think one of the guards will demonstrate to you.”

She gestured, and a Touareg came forward. He drew a short blade from under his burnous . The cruel steel glittered as he advanced. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder so as to hold him firm. Then, with the extreme point of the blade, he drew a design over the lower part of his abdomen. The knife scarcely harmed the clothing. But the meaning was revoltingly clear. One of the women screamed. Others muttered threats. But Annice was unperturbed.

“Now,” she asked, “do you understand?”

The Man With Asthma showed all the symptoms of extreme ear. His eyes were wild, his jaw slack. Sweat oozed down his face and even out of the top of his bare scalp. He was a comfortable man. Except for his chest affliction, he had probably never known a moment’s hardship in his life until now.

But deep down in him there was some of the stuff of which greatness is made.

He blurted back: “I don’t care—you can cut me to pieces. I still won’t do it…!”

A woman rushed to him and put her arms round his neck. She was short and fat. They made an unlovely pair. But there was no doubt of the affection which existed between them. She wept, and he tried to console her with meaningless mumblings.

Annice watched. Then she shrugged her shoulders. She had obviously come to a decision.

She said: “I don’t want to see any exhibitions of mock heroism when the time comes for the execution I have planned. And so I can be sure that you will all be a little more docile, I am going to have our friend killed now—in front of you.”

The woman screamed as a Touareg dragged her away. The Touareg with the knife smiled and tested the blade on his brown hand. The Man With Asthma blinked several times in rapid succession, as though trying to wake from a nightmare. But he did not cringe or cower away.

It was Pete who halted the horror. He said to Annice: “Let me talk to them… I think I can persuade them not to be silly.”

She looked surprised. But she nodded.

“Very well. If you think you can give courage to your own executioners, do so.”

Pete paused to collect his thoughts and to still the emotions he would never have revealed. Then he said: “I want you to know that you will gain nothing by refusing to shoot us. We would die in any case. You must do as she says, and then I think your lives will be preserved.”

The Man With Asthma wheezed dramatically.

“We can’t do it—there are limits!”