Hammond Innes - The Doomed Oasis

We had used, I suppose, no more than two or three dozen rounds, but it was sufficient to make David anxious about his ammunition. Whilst the two Wahiba kept watch, David and I lowered the ladder through a hole in the mud floor of the tower and climbed down into the black rubble-filled pit below. It was slow work, searching in the dark, for we’d nothing but our hands to dig with and after so long David wasn’t at all certain where he had buried the boxes. We must have been down there at least an hour, and all the time we were scrabbling at the rubble with our hands, AH lay delirious on the floor above. Twice Hamid’s rifle cracked as he carried out David’s orders and kept the wells in Hadd clear of people. Those sounds and the darkness and the feeling that at any moment we might be overwhelmed through lack of ammunition gave a sense of desperate urgency to our work.

Finally we found the boxes and hauled them through the hole to the floor above — more than a thousand rounds of ammunition and two dozen grenades. We’d barely got the boxes open when Hamid reported a Land-Rover leaving the palace. We watched it from the embrasures, blaring its horn as it snaked through Hadd’s crooked alleys and out through the main gates of the town. It headed south toward Saraifa and David let it go, not firing a shot. ‘The sooner Sheikh Abdullah is informed of the situation here,’ he said, ‘the sooner his raiding force will leave Saraifa in peace.’ His eyes were shining now, for this was what he’d intended. That little puff of dust trailing across the desert was the visual proof of the success of his plan.

‘But what happens,’ I said, ‘when Sheikh Abdullah attacks us here with all his forces?’

He smiled, a flash of white teeth in the dark, lean face. ‘We’re not short of ammunition now.’

‘But we’re short of men. There are only four of us. How many do you think Sheikh Abdullah musters?’ I thought it was time he faced up to the situation.

‘It’s not numbers that count,’ he answered tersely. ‘Not up here. Whoever built this fort designed it to be held by a handful of men.’ And he added, ‘We’re bloody good shots, you see. Hamid and bin Suleiman, they’re like all Bedou; they’ve had guns in their hands since they were kids. And me, I learned to shoot out hunting with Khalid.’ He was almost grinning then. ‘I tell you, man, I can hit a gazelle running with a rifle bullet — and a gazelle’s a bloody sight smaller than a man. Anyway,’ he added, ‘no call for you to worry. With any luck we’ll get you away under cover of darkness tonight.’

‘And what about you?’ I asked. ‘You’ve no camels now.’

‘No.’ He stared at me, a strange, sad look in his eyes.

And then he gave a little shrug. There comes a moment in every man’s life, I suppose, when his destiny catches up with him.’

Again I was conscious of his strange choice of words, the sense of fatalism. ‘If you don’t get out… if you stay here until Sheikh Abdullah’s men have surrounded you … ‘ What could I say to make him see sense? ‘You’ll die here,’ I told him bluntly.

‘Probably.’

We stood there, staring at each other, and I knew there was nothing I could say that would make him change his mind. He didn’t care. He was filled with a burning sense of mission. It showed in his eyes and I was reminded of the word Sue had used to describe his mood — the word ‘dedicated’. All the misdirected energy that had involved him in gang warfare in Cardiff docks; now it had found an outlet, a purpose, something he believed in. Death meant nothing. ‘What about Hamid and bin Suleiman?’ I asked. ‘Will they fight with you to the end?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They’ve a blood feud on their hands and they want to kill.’

There was nothing more to be said then. ‘If I reach Buraimi and get through to the coast, I’ll inform the authorities of the situation at once.’

‘Of course.’ He said it with a bitter little smile so that I was afraid he’d read my thoughts and knew I was thinking that help would arrive too late. But then he said, ‘It’s no good talking to the authorities, you know. They won’t do anything. Much better give the story to the newspapers. I wouldn’t like to die without anybody knowing what I’d tried to do.’ Again that bitter little smile, and then he turned away. ‘Better get some sleep now. You’ve a long journey and you’ll need to be fresh for it.’

But sleep wasn’t easy. The only place where there was any shade was the tower, and there Ali’s agony of mind and body was a thin thread of sound piercing each moment of unconsciousness so that I dreamed I was listening to David’s death throes, at times to my own. He died as the sun sank — a brief rattle in the throat and silence. And at that same moment David scrambled in by the entrance hole to announce that there were vehicles coming from the direction of Saraifa.

‘I think Ali is dead,’ I said.

He bent over the boy and then nodded. ‘I should have put him out of his misery,’ he said. ‘Without a doctor, he hadn’t a hope, poor kid.’

From the embrasures we watched a trailer of dust moving in from the desert … three open Land-Rovers packed with men, a machine-gun mounted in the back of each vehicle. David called down to Hamid who was cooking rice over a fire and he grabbed his gun and climbed the outer wall to lie prone beside bin Suleiman. David motioned me to the other embrasure. ‘Don’t fire till I do. And remember, every man you hit is one less for us to deal with later.’ He had dropped to his knees, his rifle ready in the slit of the embrasure.

The three Land-Rovers reached the main gates and there they halted, stopped by the crowd of people who swarmed round them, all pointing and gesticulating towards us. An Arab askari in the leading Land-Rover swung his machine-gun and a long burst ripped the sunset stillness. Bullets splattered against the base of the tower. The guns of the other two Land-Rovers followed suit — a sound like ripping calico. Several rifles were let off.

It was a demonstration designed to restore morale. My hand trembled as I set the sights of my rifle to 500. And then David fired and I was conscious of nothing but my finger on the trigger and the third Land-Rover fastened like a toy to the V of my sights. The smell of cordite singed my nostrils. Fire blossomed like a yellow flower against the dun of desert sand. Men scattered. Some fell. And in a moment there was nothing to shoot at.

One Land-Rover in flames, the other two deserted; some bodies lying in the dust. Tracer bullets exploded like fireworks from the back of the burning vehicles, and almost immediately a second Land-Rover caught fire as the petrol tank went up. ‘I’m afraid they won’t give us an opportunity like that again.’ David sat back on his haunches and cleared his gun. ‘It will be night attacks from now on.’

Hadd was deserted now. Not a soul to be seen anywhere, the alleyways and the square empty. The Emir’s green flag hung limp above the palace; nothing stirred. Hamid went back to his cooking. The sun set and the excitement of the action ebbed away, leaving a sense of nervous exhaustion. ‘You’d better leave as soon as it’s dark,’ David said. Dusk had fallen and we were feeding in relays. He began to brief me on the route to follow, and listening to his instructions, the lonely desolate miles of desert stretched out ahead. The embers of the fire were warm. The dark shapes of the surrounding walls gave a sense of security. I was loath to go and yet I knew the security of those walls false, the embers probably the last fire for which they would have fuel.

He gave me dates and a bottle filled with water, sufficient to take me to the first well, and then began to saddle the camel. ‘You’ll be seeing Sue?’