Mack Reynolds: The Best Ye Breed

“That’s right,” Bryan said. “He was a Chaambra, wasn’t he? And his name was Abd, something or other.”

“Abd-el-Kader,” Bazaine said. “He’s been a minor celebrity among the Arabs and other nomads in the northwestern Sahara for some time. A real bandit before he got this religious, ah, kick as the Americans say.”

“At any rate,” Sean said. “Somehow this vizier of El Hassan has been rescued and the light of the self-proclaimed religious leader has gone out like a skyrocket.”

They all looked at him.

Sean said, “My guess is that was El Hassan and his men we passed near In Salah and that they were on their way north to confront this upstart. If so, they succeeded and it’s to be assumed that they’re on their way back.”

Bryan relit his pipe thoughtfuly and said, “If this was anything more than a guess, the thing for us to do would be to head north—there’s only one road, or what passes for a road—and intercept him somewhere along the way. In that manner we’d be up against only the four of them, not the whole of Tamanrasset and Fort Laperrine. That rescue aircraft of ours can sit down just as easily anywhere along the route as it can in this vicinity.”

“That’s the trouble,” Sean growled, wanting another drink and steeling himself against taking it. He had ruled himself onto the waterwagon as long as this assignment was underway and this was his first deviation. “It’s only an educated guess, and we can’t spare the time to drive all the way up that god-forsaken road, and then come back again if he doesn’t show. Besides, it would look suspicious to Isobel Cunningham and the rest.”

They all mulled that over awhile, without result, and then Sean turned to Megan McDaid. “Did you have any luck getting information when you volunteered your services as a doctor?”

Meg had been unhappy at the proceedings of this whole war council and now she let it come out.

She said,“I found out one thing. When we started down here I was of the opinion that El Hassan and his closest followers were all adventurers. But in talking to Isobel Cunningham, Doctor Smythe and the Vizier of Education, Peters, I reversed my engines. They’re idealists.”

Sean looked at Bryan O’Casey, holding his own peace.

Bryan stared down into the dottle of his pipe. “It’s an elastic word,” he said finally. “But they’ve evidently convinced you. However, in these things it’s difficult to tell who is in the right and who the wrong. If either side is right—or wrong. As soldiers of fortune, we are unconcerned with such matters. Let history decide which side was right and which wrong. And even history doesn’t do a very good job. If General Washington, Jefferson, Madison and the other so-called revolutionary forefathers of the United States had lost their war and been hanged how do you think history would now read? They would be considered a bunch of rebels who had revolted against their king and had come to their just desserts. We’re mercenaries, Meg. We fight for money. We’re not basically interested in who is right or who wrong.”

She looked into her lover’s eyes. “Do you really subscribe to that?”

He knocked the ash out of his pipe, momentarily considered his tobacco pouch but then returned the briar to a pocket of his bush jacket. “It’s one of the reasons I retired from the game, mavourneen. But, to raise our nestegg, I returned for one last job—the most lucrative I’ve ever been offered. And now I’ve taken his money and owe my allegiance to Saidi. It’s the code of the mercenary.”

She looked at the four men, one by one. Only Lon Charles avoided her challenging stare. She said, “So, if Hitler had hired you for some similar assignment to this, you would give me the same argument?”

Bryan said patiently, “If I had signed up with Hitler, yes. The thing is, I wouldn’t have signed up with him in the first place. Even we mercenaries do have a choice.”

Sean leaned forward and took over earnestly, “Meg, this El Hassan is a malcontent and an opportunist, no matter what opinions you might have come to to the contrary. He’s upsetting this whole part of the world, which was just beginning to show some signs of progress, what with the oil and mineral developments. I, for one, have no compunction against hiring out as a soldier of fortune to his political enemies.”

Meg made a rude noise. “I wonder if Saidi actually represents political elements, or profit-conscious corporations who don’t like El Hassan’s program. We don’t even know who he represents. We accept his money and embark upon what amounts to an assassination assignment.”

Raul flicked a fingernail along his blonde wisp of French mustache and murmured, “I don’t know about this assassination thing. I strongly suspect that before this is all through, we shall see actual combat. He is too well guarded to expect that ordinary assassination would be practical—that is, if we are expectant of making our, ah, getaway.”

Sean took it up again. “Meg, so far as assassination is concerned, you mentioned Hitler a moment ago. In July of 1944, a group of German generals attempted, and failed, to assassinate him. Don’t you wish they had been successful? Had they been, millions of lives would have been spared. It’s according to who is being assassinated, whether or not the act is despicable.”

She came to her feet and let her eyes go over them, one by one, as she breathed deeply. “I’m confused,” she admitted. “I don’t know what to think.”

Bryan said gently, “Meanwhile, Meg, if you let anything drop about our mission, it will undoubtedly mean the lives of all of us. Men of the El Hassan caliber are noted for their ruthlessness.”

She turned and left the tent. “ Les femmes ,” Raul Bazaine murmured.

Sean Ryan turned his eyes to Lon Charles and said, “You’re havin’ the run of Tamanrasset. Tomorrow, when you’re in town, hire yourself a camel or horse and take a short trip up the road in the direction of In Salah. Find some sort of a clearing, or area, large enough for our aircraft to land in but small enough that our forces can defend it for a maximum time. It must be close enough to this fort and to Tamanrasset that our long distance rifle grenade launchers will reach to the city and fort. Is that possible?”

Lon twisted his face and said, “It should be. Miss Cunningham said I had the freedom of Tamanrasset though she didn’t say anything about taking a horse out into the desert. I don’t know how to ride a camel and don’t expect to start learning now. I don’t think I oughta have any trouble.”

Bryan said glumly, “Now we have to keep our fingers crossed that they’ll return our weapons when they kick us out.”

When El Hassan’s hoverlorry entered the main gate of Fort Laperrine, it was unescorted. Homer Crawford and his companions had met a gown of Guémama’s camel corps several kilometers out, but had waved off the desire to accompany their ultimate leader and his viziers.

The vehicle came to a temporary halt immediately inside the entry and the four occupants in the front seat looked out over the parade ground. Less than precision drill was going on. What were obviously older veterans of desert warfare were putting younger tribesmen through European type evolutions.

Bey, who was bandaged at the waist but otherwise didn’t look the less for wear, said, “Who in the hell are they?” indicating with a thumb.

They were some twenty white men, dressed in a wide variety of desert uniforms and sitting on the ground before three vehicles and four tents, over against the non-com quarters. On the faces of some were expressions of undisguised contempt of the efforts of the desert men.