Hell's Legionnaire (7 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Mutiny

I
gave my kepi a tug and looked
at Ivan. “Perhaps, Ivan, you had better save those bullets for the Berbers and
point that machine gun back into the ravine.”

Ivan's dark, sunken
eyes did not waver from my face. Nor did the machine gun.

Montrey smiled.

“Mon corporal,”
he said, “I have said
a few words to the men. They have decided to give you a chance.”

“Very nice of them,
mon
général,
” I snapped.

“You might do better,”
replied Montrey, “by sitting there and answering a few questions.” He jerked
his gun at Ivan and his smile broadened.
“Mon corporal,
why did you join
the Legion?”

“What are you driving
at, Montrey?”

He struck a pose,
looking like a scarecrow, and I would have laughed at him had it not been for
the revolver and machine gun.

“We want to know if
you wish to continue serving France.”

“Yes,” I replied, as
quietly as I could. “If you're talking about desertion, we don't know anything
about the country to the northwest of us and I don't think we could even get
through east to the main command. These devils think too much of our Lebel
rifles and they hate the
Makhzan
on general principles. We'll have to
stick until we get a relief column.”

“Mon corporal,” he said, “I have said a few words to the men.
They have decided to give you a chance.”

“Relief column,
hein
?
You think they care enough about a squad to send a relief column after
it—running the risk of losing a whole company in doing so? You are
cafard
,
mon corporal
. You think only in terms of brass bands and medals. If you
do not wish to come with us, then we will find this map and go ourselves.” He
lifted the revolver. “Without you.”

“So that's the way the
wind blows. You'll murder me and
light out
yourselves. How do you think you
will find your way? No one has ever marked these peaks. You have no charts. You
would be lost a day's march away from this base.”

“You have a compass,”
smiled Montrey. “We would like to borrow that.”

I reached into the
right breast pocket of my tunic and pulled out the compass. It was primarily
designed for determining
azimuths
and interceptions for machine-gun fire. It
had a raised wire sight and when one looked through the glass eyepiece he saw a
number on the compass disc and the object which would determine a bearing.

I handed it to Montrey
and with a glance to make certain that Ivan Njivi was still covering me,
Montrey raised himself up until he could see over the parapet. He took a sight
on a red boulder across the gap.

“It is in good order,”
said Montrey. “I thank you. Now we have no further need of you. Understand,
mon
corporal,
that we shoot you not because we do not like you but because it
is irksome to be hampered by a higher rank in our midst. Ivan! You might as
well finish him.” Montrey stepped quickly away and Ivan squinted at me through
the sights.

I managed a smile.

“Wait a minute,
Montrey. Before you are so foolish as to kill me, take another sight at right
angles to the one you just took.”

He eyed me for several
seconds. Then, feeling that I was doing more than stalling for time, he raised
himself and sighted another boulder. He sank back in a moment, his face blank.

“Why—why,
mon Dieu!
This reads almost the same! It must be broken!”

“No,” I said. “It is
not broken. Perhaps you have heard that iron deflects a compass needle. It so
happens that these mountains are so full of iron ore that it is impossible to
obtain a correct compass reading. You might as well throw that instrument away,
Montrey.”

“But,” cried Montrey,
“how can you find your way around?”

I was breathing
easier.

“Montrey, I don't
think you ever heard of trigonometry. Nor calculus. Nor could you name a single
constellation in the sky.”

His face was still
blank.

“What is a
constellation?”

“A body of stars,” I
replied. “I was once a civil engineer, Montrey. They have to know such things.
That is why I was on Intelligence work the first few months I was in the
Legion. Not spy Intelligence, but mapping service. Because I mapped better than
the officer in charge of the party, he became afraid that I would use my
knowledge against him. He had me transferred to the line companies. Did you hear
what Copain said before he died? Copain was an Intelligence man, also versed in
mapping.”

Montrey gestured to
Ivan and scuttled back to Copain's tent. The three men dived in with Montrey.
The canvas shook, fell apart. Angrily they threw back the khaki rags and spread
all of poor Copain's meager belongings on the ground. With ruthless, lustful
hands they set to work. Equipment was torn to shreds. Even the blanket was
taken from the dead man and ripped apart.

These men, a few
moments before, had been good soldiers, but now, with the scent of gold in
their nostrils, they had gone mad. Too much privation, bad food, too little
water. It was an old story, that madness.

In a few moments they
discovered that Copain's kepi had a double lining. They slit the innermost one
and then Montrey was standing there holding a piece of mapping paper in shaking
hands. Three unshaven faces peered over his shoulders. Ivan wanted to go but he
did not leave the gun.

Presently, Montrey
came over to me and threw the paper in my lap. “Intelligence,
hein
? I see but little
intelligence to that,
mon corporal
.”

The sheet was covered
with accurately drawn lines and minute figures. The readings were all in
longitude and latitude, figured down to seconds. To a layman, it was an aimless
jumble, but to a former Intelligence man, it was quite comprehensible. Vividly
so.

Copain had taken vast
pains with this map. He showed the High Atlas with wriggling, correctly read
contours. He had spotted peaks, estimated their elevation; he had drawn a small
square, marking it with the recognized symbol for stone walls—a series of
circles. It was easy to see that this city lay in a valley between two mountain
ranges.

Also that a river ran
through the exact center of the town and found its way out of the valley by
means of a deep gorge.

“There is much
intelligence to this, but it will do none of you any good. Go back to your
tents and get out of this sun. We'll have another attack tonight.”

“No you don't!”
snarled Montrey. “You are going to lead us to that place. And we are leaving at
dusk.”

“And what if I
refuse?”

Montrey glanced about
him. A coil of line was at one end of the
murette
. I knew then what he
intended to do. A band around the forehead, drawn tight as a tourniquet, is a
pain no man can stand.

I decided that I could
only get out of this by smashing my way through. While his eyes were still on
the rope I suddenly grabbed Montrey's wrist.

With a howl he jumped
away, trying to bring up the seized gun. Ivan crouched lower over the machine
gun, unwilling to shoot Montrey.

Montrey twisted about,
threw me off balance and jumped back. Ivan's eye was tight against the
machine-gun sight. He pressed the trips.

It was Ivan's pride
that he was the best machine gunner in the Legion. I knew that his slugs would
hammer me to pulp in an instant.

Suddenly Ivan ceased
to fire. I looked up, expecting to find myself dead. But Ivan sat beside the
gun, grinning foolishly and staring at the sights. He looked at Montrey and
shrugged, pointing to the sights.

Montrey, half-crouched,
eyed the revolver which lay in the dust halfway between us.

“I'm sorry,” said
Ivan, chuckling. “It's the sights. They were set for six hundred yards. I fired
over the top of his head.”

Like a huge ape, he
rocked back and forth. His mind was too flighty, too childish, to see any
further than the joke. He, Ivan, the best machine gunner in the Legion, had
failed to notice that his sights were set for six hundred yards when he was
firing at thirty feet.

Montrey relaxed and
looked once more at the rope.

I sighed.

“Oh,
what the deuce
,
Montrey. We can't stay here. Let's try for Casablanca way to the northwest. If
we happen across the pipe dream of Copain's, we'll take along the loot. But
I'll go on one condition.”

“Condition?”

“Yes. That I am still
in command of my own squad and that my word is law. We go as a body of
Legionnaires,
not as a rabble. Remember, Montrey, I am the only one that can take you to that
place.”

Montrey relaxed and
shrugged.

“All right,
mon
corporal
.”

CHAPTER THREE

Berber Bullets

I
assembled my men after they had
finished the task of burying Copain. They looked at me with feverish eyes.
Montrey licked his thirst-swollen lips. Ivan Njivi fumbled with his hands.
Kraus, the German, Gian, the Italian, and Maurice, another Frenchman, made up the
remainder of the squad. We had buried the other two a few days before.

“Listen closely,” I
said. “After moonrise it will be too late to get away, but I suspect that the
Berbers will be waiting until they have light enough to make their attack. That
should come within the next hour.

“We will file along
this ridge, one at a time. Then we will drop down into a ravine. That point
will be our rendezvous. From there I will have to lead the way because we know
nothing of what lies beyond.”

They nodded, nervously.
I knew that they did not fear the Berbers we might meet. They were overcome by
the thought that they might have enough money at the end of this trek to live
the rest of their lives in luxury. I knew that they would be hard to
handle—harder even than when drunk.

There is nothing quite
as bad as gold madness.

I divided the
Chauchats and ammunition among them. When they had finished their
paquetage
,
Montrey spoke up.

“I suppose,
mon
corporal,
that because of your rank, you do not find it necessary to carry
a load other than your own equipment.”

“Pardon,
m'sieu
,
”
I bowed, “but you have forgotten the dynamite and gunpowder that was left here
with us. It makes a heavier load than any of you are carrying.”

“And what do you want
with that?”

“If only to keep it from
falling into Berber hands, I take it along.” With that, I dug the explosives
out of the hole in the cliff face and packaged them. They had been used in
constructing this post and when the company had left us there, their Moorish
barbs had been too overloaded to carry them.

I led off a few
minutes before the moon came up. The ridge was like a knife back, hard to walk
along. An incautious step would send a warning shower of boulders down into the
ravine.

A hundred yards away
from the post I stopped and listened. I could hear rocks rolling down in the
gully. That meant that our friends the Berbers were on the move. A shadowy
figure was close behind me. That would be Ivan, judging from his hulk.

As I reached the end
of the ridge, I started the vertical descent to the bottom. To fight in the
High Atlas, a soldier has to be half mountain goat, half pack barb, half
Alpineer, and half crystal gazer. That makes two soldiers, doesn't it? Well, no
matter. You have to be at least three to stay in the Legion.

Ivan dropped down
beside me and slid into the shadow of the moon. He was uncannily silent for so
huge a man. Then came the stolid Kraus. After him were Gian, Maurice and
finally Montrey.

Montrey's whisper was
shrill.

“They're starting to
attack the post! We'd better get out of here. When they find we're gone they'll
be able to track us. Those jackals have the noses of hounds.”

“All right. Maurice,
you're rear guard. See that they don't jump us and don't waste too many of
those Chauchat bullets, get me?”

Maurice had a ratlike
face. I didn't like his tone when he said,
“Oui, mon commandant!”

I turned to Gian.

“You keep bullets in
your gun, understand? I'm leading off with Montrey.”

Gian stroked the
Chauchat's butt.

“Do not lead off too
far,
mon commandant
. My range is better than a thousand yards—and in
this moonlight—” he broke off with an oily smile.

I knew that it was no
use to try the
mailed fist
with them. They were all half-crazed.

We had just started
off when all hell broke loose back at the post. The Berbers had reached it and
judging from the sounds they were tearing it apart.

Stepping off as fast
as we could, we heard Maurice go into action. Looking back I saw the top of the
ridge thick with white, clearly shown by the moon. When the
Chauchat
rattled
into full swing, men began to drop. They came down like shot gulls. Then I
heard a roar of angry voices.

Men poured out at us
from the ravine below the post.

Maurice stopped firing
and came up to us on the run. We reached a bend in the gulch and turned it.
Another bend presented itself dead ahead. We made that one. I snatched
Maurice's Chauchat.

“Go on!” I bellowed.
“Make the next bend and cover my retreat with the machine gun!”

But Montrey in turn
took the Chauchat from me and thrust it back at Maurice.

“No! You've got to
lead us to that town! Maurice, you heard his orders. Get busy!”

Almost at once the
Chauchat began to rave. The swirl of burnoose and the glint of moonlight on
white headcloths was momentarily checked. The hillmen dived into cover behind
boulders and their dead splotched the ravine floor with motionless white
patches.

We made the next bend
and I halted. Montrey jerked at my arm.

“Come on, you fool!”
he cried.

“We've got to cover
Maurice's retreat!” I bellowed.

“To the devil with
Maurice!”

I struck him on the
mouth. Gian had hesitated for an instant and I pointed down the gully. Gian
leveled his auto-rifle over the top of a boulder and let drive. Maurice, head
held low, sprinted across the patches of moonlight and came up to us, swearing
and panting.

“You'll cover the
next!” I snapped at Montrey.

His face went gray,
but he took Gian's position behind the gun. I knew that Montrey would not
reverse the piece on us. He was far too busy stemming the tide of white which
rose like a wave before him.

Maurice seemed to
understand. He choked out,
“Merci,”
as we ran on.

Ivan had stopped. He
had slung the machine gun to its tripod behind a rock. I looked ahead to see
that another white blur had materialized to our front. We were hemmed in front
and rear. A boulder crashed near at hand. On the left cliff side I saw a flurry
of cloth. The Berbers were up there, trying to smash us with rocks.

There was only one
answer to that. We had to scale a sheer wall in full pack and in full view of
those very competent riflemen, the Berbers.

Ivan started to fire
short, snapping bursts. Men sought cover from the leaden sleet. Gian had
covered Montrey's retreat with an indifferent fire and Montrey was with us
again. I pointed to the high summit above us.

“Who has the rope?”
And when it was forthcoming, I slid out of my pack and gripped for the first
handholds. “Get those devils on the other side up there. And when I drop this
end to you, pass up the machine gun on it. Then send Gian with his Chauchat. I
think we can make it.”

Climbing, I wondered
how long our ammunition would last at this rate. Chauchats and machine guns
have a way of using up lead and powder. On the cliff face I was aware that I
made a tempting target, but I had not dared to trust any of the others. Not
that they were yellow. You can't stay in the Legion and be yellow. But they
were off balance, giddy.

A slug showered me
with sharp fragments. Another twitched at my kepi, but by some miracle it
stayed on. I remember thinking that I would rather lose my life than my kepi.
Without that headgear, I would have lost my mind under the onslaught of sun.

The top seemed very
far away, though it was less than three hundred feet. I stopped midway and sent
down the line for the machine gun. Bracing myself I pulled it up.

As I fed in a new belt
I shouted for Gian and went to work driving the surrounding hillmen away from
the sniping points. In something like three minutes, Gian was there with me. I
put him behind the machine gun and went on up.

The second half of the
trip was more difficult than the first, but with the machine gun at that
elevation, the sniping had almost ceased. With a thankful grunt I wrapped my
fingers over the edge of the cliff and hoisted myself up.

A movement over my
head caught my eye. I was staring straight into black, contracted eyes. The
man's knife was reaching out playfully to sink itself into my ribs.