Hell's Legionnaire (9 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Fight in the Mosque

I
N
the white moonlight we
approached the walls of the city—or what had once been a city. Tier after tier
of stones had been standing there for hundreds of years. I am not enough of an
archaeologist to give you the exact description and type and period, but even
to my unpracticed eyes, this seemed the work of Romans.

Approaching a wall
which had dwarfed us, the others turned to me. Montrey smiled, his dark eyes
were blazing.

“You think we cannot
find our way out of here?” he said.

“I don't know,
Montrey,” I replied. “It would be rather difficult without a compass. Of
course, it's nothing to me if you want to get lost in these mountains. Nothing
at all.”

Then Montrey pointed
to something which I had not seen before. It was a stone-paved road leading out
to the northwest. A Roman road, built nine feet into the ground, imperishable.
It would show the way.

They would not need me
anymore.

Simultaneously with
that discovery, Gian made another.

“The Berbers!” he
cried. “They didn't follow us down here!”

All eyes swept to the
southeast toward the empty mountains. It was true.

They had not followed.
But it was not a cause for relief. There must be something in this city which
they feared.

I stepped away from
the others. By moonlight it was impossible to see very far with any
distinctness, even though the moon was as bright as an arc lamp.

Looking back at the
town I saw the gates. Something was moving beside them. Something white. Had
the Berbers followed us after all? I did not think so. The hillmen would want
nothing better than an open plain to start an attack. As we were without cover
they could wipe us out by the very crush of numbers.

Montrey trotted toward
the gate and I went up to him. The white thing had disappeared. Montrey tested
the tall iron grilling. In this high altitude, the iron did not show any great
signs of wear or rust—a fact which is very usual but which caused me a bad
moment. The grill was shiny at the height of a man's hand!

“We'd better get out
of here,” I said. “If we don't, I'm afraid there won't be any of us left to go
back.”

“You should worry
about going back,” snapped Montrey. He swung around and I saw that he held a
Chauchat at waist level. By the moonlight I could see the fire in his eyes.

I dived to the right,
expecting the impact of bullets at any instant. But instead I heard a creak of
rusty hinges. I looked back at Montrey and past him I beheld a white robe. The
gates were open!

The man said something
in a language which sounded like Arabic, but before the sentence was finished,
Montrey had wheeled on him with the auto-rifle. Almost in the same instant, a
sword flashed in the gatekeeper's hand.

Montrey let drive. The
powder flame turned the wall a dull red. It seemed that the gun went on forever
before the gatekeeper collapsed.

Kraus, Gian and Ivan
came on the run, faces set, guns ready. They headed straight for the gate.

“Don't go in!” I
shouted. “The town is occupied!”

But I might as well
have told the silent hills to move. Montrey in the lead, they swept in through
the portals and ran down a narrow street, boots ringing against the stone,
their
bandoliers
clanking. I rammed after them, pack jarring my back.

Instantly the town was
alive with men. They spewed from every doorway. Crude lanterns jumped into
being. A concerted howl went up from a thousand throats.

The four ahead of me
would not stop to make a stand. They were mad with the lust for gold. They did
not seem to realize that there would be no escape for them, ringed as they were
with walls and men.

Ahead was a cleared
space—probably the old forum. The stones were worn and in the moonlight the
white pillars of the buildings which faced it loomed like so many ghostly
soldiers.

On a rise a hundred
feet away stood a square, squat building built like the Acropolis. Montrey
headed for it.

To the rear of the
three others ran Gian. His head was lowered and his teeth were set. From a roof
above us a rifle cracked with a streak of red flame. Gian stumbled and caved
in.

I paused long enough
to snatch up the auto-rifle and the cartridge belts. Another rifle spat down at
me and knocked my kepi away. My auto-rifle barked and the gun above me
clattered to the street, followed by a white-robed figure.

Recovering the kepi, I
sprinted on. A small bridge was underfoot and I could hear the gurgling wash of
the river beneath.

Montrey knew what he
was doing when he headed for the square building above. It was the only one
which could be defended—and it was obviously an old Roman temple.

I toiled up the steps.
Above I saw Montrey unlimber an auto-rifle. Ivan was already at work. The
machine gun rapped and roared, sending screaming bullets into the streets
below.

I made the entrance of
the building with one last jump and dived inside, heading for the rear.

Two statues were in
this dim interior, statues of the Roman gods. But they were lying on their
sides, broken into great fragments. Mohammedanism had come to this city, that
was plain. Therefore, this was a mosque.

A shadowy body was
catapulted at me, knife shimmering in a tense hand. I sidestepped and pulled
the trigger. The man went skittering back, flat on the floor, driven there by
my bullets.

I was not a moment too
soon in reaching the rear of the mosque. Men came swarming up the hillside,
weapons gleaming beneath the white moon.

Bracing the Chauchat
against a pillar, I let them have it. The line wavered. Those in the rear were
knocked back by those who fell in front.

No cover was available
on that hillside. After the first rush was checked, even while the leaders
exhorted their men to go on, I started at the left side and fired in an arc to
the right. Pausing midway I fed more bullets into the smoking breech. The arc
went on through.

In less than a minute
the hillside was carpeted with white—nothing stirred.

Before I could get my
breath I saw that I had not deterred the remaining forces in the least. They
were forming at the bottom once again, ready for a second charge.

Although the Chauchat
was hot enough to melt, I hammered three short bursts into the group across the
forum just to show them that they were far from out of range.

I reached back
confidently to where I had dropped the bandoliers. I reached further back,
fumbling with the collapsed canvas. Suddenly it occurred to me that I was all
out of ammunition.

I sprinted for the
front of the mosque, risking an attack on the rear in my absence. The machine
gun had gone silent as had the other auto-rifles.

Ivan was sprawled
across his weapon, hands still on the trip. A pool of blood was widening on the
white stone.

I whirled about and
stared down the platform. Gian was doubled up, moaning, hitching himself toward
me.

Gian's face was
twisted in agony. He pressed pain-stiffened hands against his belly. Through
the reddened fingers I saw that his belt had been shot away.

From within the mosque
I heard Montrey's voice laughing shrilly. Then I heard Kraus' bellow of rage.
Gian was close to me now, his eyes pleading. I knew what he wanted.

I unstrapped Ivan's
rifle, jacked a bullet into the chamber and sent it sliding toward Gian. I
turned my back and went into the mosque. The crack of the Lebel outside was
dull, muffled.

Montrey's laugh was
there again and I ran toward it. I saw an oil lamp, fed by mutton fat, hanging
from the wall. Below it, bending over a chest, stood Montrey and Kraus. Some
bright-colored stones were still rolling on the floor. Montrey had jerked a
necklace away from Kraus.

They straightened up
and I knew they had not heard me enter. Kraus reached back for his rifle, his
face scarlet with anger. Montrey's revolver was there first. The revolver
barked.

Kraus jerked himself
erect, rising on his toes. Montrey fired again and Kraus fell face forward to
the stone.

My own rifle was off
my back. The revolver went spinning away from Montrey's suddenly red hand as I
shot from the waist.

His face was blank
with surprise. He recovered instantly.

“Curse you!”

“Shut up. The rest are
dead,” I snapped. “We've got to get out of here and get out fast. I'm all out
of bullets for this auto-rifle and there aren't ten shots left in that machine
gun. We can't hold out, understand? It's going to take the two of us to get out
of here!”

With that I went over
to the man I killed in the mosque. I stripped him of his white robe and found
it filthy with grease. Bringing it back, I laid it out flat before the chest.

Montrey, unarmed and
realizing what I had said was true, dipped his hands into the chest and began
to scoop out handfuls of stuff which glittered and shimmered in the light of
the swinging oil lamp. Several bright bars lay in the chest but I shook my
head.

“No gold, get me? It's
too heavy. And to blazes with that amber you've got!”

Grudgingly, Montrey
let the amber slide back and scooped out another double handful of gems.
Wrapping the ends of the robe around the glittering heap, I emptied my pack of
everything that I did not think I could use. But that did not include the many
pounds of gunpowder and dynamite that I had hauled all these torturous miles.
Montrey looked on, sullenly.

“How are we going to
get out?” he muttered. His wounded hand had sobered him.

“Follow me,” I
ordered.

From the rear of the
mosque came a medley of yells. They had discovered that I was not at the top of
those steps, and they were coming up.

Montrey and I stopped
by the front pillars. I hurriedly gathered up the rifles. I extracted the bolt
from the machine gun and then demolished the working parts with a smash against
the stone.

Ivan's dead eyes
seemed to follow us as we plunged down the steps toward the bridge.

Gian no longer had
eyes. A Lebel bullet fired by his own hand had finished him.

But we had no time to
worry about dead men. Very live men rose up before us like
ifrïts
.
Guns started up. Slugs whined about us like angry wasps.

Heads down, burdened
by excess rifles, we ran toward the bridge.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The River of Death

W
E
made the bridge
because we ran too fast and changed our course too often to make good targets.

I dropped the rifles
to the deck of the nearest barge and then followed them over the edge. Montrey
landed behind me like a cat.

Casting off the rough
hempen line, we shoved the
scow
out into the swift stream which bisected the
town. That done, I snatched up an auto-rifle and fed the last clip into the
breech.

The men who had
assembled on the bridge over our heads hastily drew back under the hail of
bullets. The snipers along the river banks shrieked and dived for shelter. The
stream carried us swiftly toward the aperture which let the river flow on
through the valley to the steep gorge at the far end.

Then I heard the
clatter of horses' hoofs far away. Mounting their barbs, Allah's children were
making certain that they would reach the gorge before we did. I wondered why we
should not be able to slip on through the gorge. I found out soon enough.

Montrey, thinking that
the danger was passed, turned on me. “I suppose you think I'm going to let
you—”

I lowered my rifle.

“You're staying with
me, Montrey, until I don't need you any longer.”

“Got an idea that you
can take me into Legion headquarters or something like that?”

“Shut up and lay on with
that pole. We've got to get to the gorge before those horsemen. Otherwise,
we're liable to be out of luck.”

That brought him back
to momentary truce. He snatched up the pole and plied it with a will. The arch
in the west wall of the town passed swiftly over our heads. When we were out on
the plain, floating swiftly along, the horsemen rounded the near wall and
thundered along the bank toward us.

I leveled the
auto-rifle and fired three bursts, emptying several saddles. I discovered once
and for all, as I started to fire again, that the auto-rifles were useless. We
were out of everything but rifle bullets.

Without ceremony I
dumped the three Chauchats into the river and followed them up with all the
Lebels but two. At least they would never fall into Berber hands.

The plain whisked by.
Ahead I heard the mutter of falling water. I knew then why they seemed so
certain of catching up with us. That gorge was filled with rapids, perhaps
falls, as are most river gorges. I knew that we didn't have a chance. No more
rapid-firing guns—only two Lebels and a questionable supply of ammunition for
those. The auto-rifles and the machine gun were what had kept us from
annihilation thus far.

Just before we reached
the gorge, I headed the scow into the bank. We jumped out and let the barge
float on.

Running again, I saw a
footpath that seemed to travel along the riverside.

Montrey slacked up.

“What's the use?” he
cried. “We haven't anything with which to defend ourselves. They'll hunt us
down no matter how far away we travel!”

I did not answer him.
I was too busy working in the cliff side. From a short distance away came the
pounding of hoofs, as ominous as distant artillery fire. Montrey stood looking
back, gripping his Lebel with white-knuckled hands.

I had drilled a dozen
deep holes in the soft, crumbly rock, so I unstrapped my pack and hauled out
the dynamite and gunpowder. It was a moment's work to cap the sticks and apply
the fuse.

Stuffing the holes
full of explosive, hoping that this would give us a temporary respite, I
applied a match. The fuse sputtered.

The hoofs were nearer
now, less than two hundred yards away. Montrey saw what I had done. He ran
ahead of me. The horses were almost to the gap.

I dropped down on one
knee and held them up for a moment with two shots. The horsemen pulled in and
unlimbered their own guns. The moonlight sparkled on naked steel.

Suddenly the entire
world seemed to fly apart. I had had no idea that the explosion would be so
great. Boulders flew away from the cliff. Rocks showered down like mortar
shells.

The bright river was
suddenly obliterated by the fog of dust and flying fragments.

I was knocked flat by
the concussion. My face in the dirt, I heard the whole cliff begin to slide
away.

My ears ached with the
impacts of sound.

The opposing cliff
caved in, jolted to its very base.

Then everything became
still. The dust settled slowly and evenly over the gorge. Once more the moon
shone through.

I heard a laugh behind
me and scrambled up. Montrey stood there, feet spread apart, his rifle centered
on my chest.

“That,” said Montrey,
“was very clever,
mon corporal
. And it will save me a great deal of
bother. Those people cannot get out of that valley. When we came down we had to
slide like goats. The upper gorge is a torrent.” He pointed to the river below
us.

It had ceased to run!
The cliff had dammed it!

“And I suppose,” I
said, “that I'm to die now.”

“Correct,” replied
Montrey, raising his Lebel the fraction of an inch which centered it on my
heart. “There is no need to share that wealth with you.”

I found courage enough
to laugh.

“Then fire away. I
still have a stick of dynamite in my pack and a box of caps to go with it. One
jar and we'll both die!”

Montrey's mouth gaped.
He drew hastily away from me.

“That's not far
enough,” I told him. “It might blow the cliff down on your head.”

He backed up once
more, never taking his eyes from me. When he had reached the range of fifty
yards he stopped and threw the gun to his shoulder.

I dived away into the
protection of an overhanging ledge. Montrey fired but he had neglected, as Ivan
had neglected with the machine gun, to set his sights.

My own Lebel's crack
brought the echoes out of the rocks. I fired three times. The first struck
Montrey in the chest. The second and third smashed his face. He wilted toward
the edge and then stumbled. His body fell into a pool of quiet water below.

P
erhaps Montrey has
found out in some other world that I had not possessed so much as a single cap
or stick in my haversack.

I made my way to
Casablanca without much difficulty, traveling fast and by night, using the
stars for a compass.

Outside of that city I
found a clothier and I outfitted myself, discarding Legion garb.

It was obvious that I
could not go back to Sidi. One cannot readily explain the loss of an entire
squad. And if I had gone back they might have given me some time with the
Zephyrs just to show me that an insignificant corporal should not take the
initiative of leaving his post, lack of water and temper of men
notwithstanding.

Besides,
mes amis,
what need have I for a
sou
a day? Or for the cover the Legion affords to
the indiscreet? I paid up my bills, paid them double—and I did not miss the
price!