The salt flat shimmered. Heat waves rose in undulating crests, creating updrafts on which vultures rode with wide-spread wings. Dominic looked to the skies, checking the time. It should be any minute. To the south, dust devils whirled and rose, dancing across the furnace of heaven. Out on the flat there was even less life. Scorpions and snakes tended to avoid it. Few plants were hardy enough to survive. It was a place as dead as could be found anywhere on the planet.
At the north end the other two heavy-duty Land Rovers waited. Only Dominic stood at the southern end of the flat. He had driven over the landing site, making certain there was no unseen boulder that would burst a tire, no hidden ditch that could cause the plane to crash. He needn't have bothered. The flat was nearly as smooth as tarmac and almost as hard. The team of Land Rovers had spread out to provide security for the landing site. It wasn't likely anyone would be watching them but then again, who could tell. In clear, dry air, visibility was nearly unlimited. A man twenty miles away with sharp eyes could have focused on them.
The trip had been long, hot, and difficult over trails that even goats would avoid. Several times they'd had to stop to either pull one of the vehicles out of a sand trap or use the strips of perforated steel plating they had brought with them to dig down under the tires and pull themselves out.
Dominic would have liked to take his shirt off but that would have been foolish. His tender skin would have developed second-degree burns in a matter of minutes. The glare of the salt flats was eye piercing and the sun was only reflected and amplified by its whiteness.
His body tried to cool itself by sweating; it did no good. As soon as moisture appeared on his lips or face it was gone, evaporated. The sweat that reached his shirt lasted little longer. When it was gone it left white streaks from his own body salts soaked into the material.
Dominic put on dark glasses to ease the strain under the brim of his hat. He liked the desert; it felt good. The aching white was a comfort. For many the silence that could come to the barren lands was maddening. Not for him. It felt good. Clean.
He felt better now that he was going to work. That was what he needed, and the desert was a good place for killing. And for dying. It had been too long since he was operational. He knew that something had started to go wrong with him in Indochina at Dien Bien Phu. A need to fight, not just kill, though that was an important part of it. Even his strong desire for women had diminished. Though he still enjoyed a little ass, it didn't have the same satisfaction to it unless he had been in battle. He knew that Carl and Gus were worried about him. But there was no need for such concern. He would not last much longer. Like Carl and Gus, he too had known men like himself who had become infected with the same disease he now carried in his soul. They had all died sooner than their compatriots. And it was almost always a violent death.
He laughed out loud. The sound startled him; it was so unnatural in this place of silence. Maybe he would die this time. The thought of his own termination didn't upset Dominic at all. It gave him only a vague feeling of curiosity as to what would come next, if anything. Either way it didn't matter. He didn't matter anymore. He was like the others with the death sickness. He was just waiting, waiting for a time and place to die… One more check of his watch. It was time to try and make contact. Getting on the radio he adjusted the squelch, set the frequency, and hit the talk button.
"Silver. This is Gold. Do you read me? Over.'' Only static responded. He fine-tuned the frequency and turned up the volume.
"Silver, this is Gold. Do you read me? Over.'' This time the response was a welcome voice, crackling a bit, requiring him to adjust the squelch.
"Roger that, Gold. This is Silver. We are on our approach. How is it there?"
"Wind from the south about ten to fifteen. The deck is clear. Come on in, the party's waiting."
"Roger on that, Gold. Wind from the south ten to fifteen. Party is ready to play. Should be on the deck in ten. Do you roger that? Over."
"Roger, on deck in ten. Out."
Switching channels he spoke to the rest of the crew, reaching them on the walkie-talkies. "Okay out there, keep your eyes and ears open. Silver is coming in. Let's not get careless. Keep your eyes off the strip and on the desert. We could still get company. Some of you never dealt with Tuaregs before. They can be sitting under your ass before you know they're there. So keep sharp and keep off the air till I call you."
One by one they responded, acknowledging Dominic's orders. They would do as they were told. Those that had fought the Tuaregs before knew he was right. The serious manner in which they took Dominic's orders had the desired effect on the others who had had no experience with the nomads. All eyes faced out from the salt flat, fingers on the safeties of their weapons though the metal was so hot it was painful to touch. One of the men new to the desert wondered how hot it had to get before the bullets in the magazine would explode.
Dominic saw the glint of silver in the sky before he heard the motors. The plane was making its approach. It rode just above the heat waves, coming straight on. The pilot must have had the salt flat lined up perfectly.
The shape of the aircraft was visible for a minute, then it vanished as it dropped into the heat waves and was lost in the shimmering brightness. Then it was there again. The engines were out of place in the land of silence and desert winds. Landing gear down, the plane was only a hundred feet off the deck, gliding in smoothly. It touched down gently, rubber tires pushing into the salt crust. Flaps full, throttles cut back, it slowed to a near stop, then taxied over to where the Land Rovers waited. The side door was already open.
Dominic climbed into the cab of his vehicle and drove across the salt flat to meet them. The arrivals were out of the plane and offloading gear when he reached them.
Gus greeted him as he got out of the Land Rover. "Well Dominic, you pretty bastard, where are the girls? I send you to this beach and now you don't have a proper welcome for Uncle Gus. Shame on you."
"Knock it off, Gus, and give the others a hand," Langers barked.
Langers had come from behind the plane followed by Sharif Mamud ibn-Hassani. Dominic brightened up. It was good to see him and the huge German. Mamud wore his usual outfit of jellaba and turban while Langers, like the others, was in battle dress, French camouflage splinter pattern, a Mats-49 slung at his side, full-battle fit. Dominic picked his pack out of the pile and dug out his own uniform. Changing into it made him feel good. It was like the old days, Indochina, Algeria.
Gus did as Langers had ordered and helped the other men with the last of their gear. As soon as the cargo bay was clear Parrish moved out, taxiing to the southernmost end of the strip, pointing his nose into the wind, and taking off without further ceremony. His job was done and now he wanted out. In a few hours he would be drinking cold beer and wondering if the men he took out to the "devil's hammer" would ever be seen again. In the event that they did not make it back, he promised himself to have at least one cold beer in each man's memory.
Sims, their gay British medic, was handing out salt tablets and chiding the men to be careful about insect stings and snake bites.
"Get the gear loaded and let's move out!" Langers ordered. "Dominic, where do we go from here?'' He knew that Dominic had made his recon of the area so he let him take over.
Dominic pointed to the west across the desert to where a dark shape rose up seventy miles away. An island in a sea of sand, their destination, Mt. Baguezane.
"We go southwest for about fifty kilometers,'' he explained, "then follow a wadi back to the north for another two until it turns almost due west. We can stay in the wadi till we are about five or six kilometers from the base of the mountain. Then it gets too rough and we'll have to pull out of it."
"Good," Carl said. "I like that the wadi will give us some cover. We'll hole up when we get to within five or six kilometers of the base. By then it'll be dark. We'll rest for a while before going on, just to play it safe." To Mamud he queried, "What do you say, old one? Is that the way to go in?"
Stroking his beard between long fingers, Sharif Mamud looked toward the mountain. He had never come to it from exactly this direction. It took only a moment for him to realign his internal compass, then all was clear.
"It's the best way at this time. Once we are near the base of the mountain it will be more clear to me. But we should hope to be near to the southern half of it."
Dominic referred to his map. "That's where we'll be, near a rock formation that looks like a camel's head."
Sharif Mamud knew the place. "That will be good."
"All right then," Carl said. "Let's get to it."
Sharif Mamud and Carl sat with Dominic in the lead vehicle, putting Gus in the rear to bring up drag. They headed out into the desert, leaving the white death behind them. Langers made them take their time. To hurry in the desert was to invite disaster. If one of the Land Rovers broke down they'd have to abandon it. They would take it easy.
For the first five hours the mountain never seemed to get any closer. Langers knew that it would be near nightfall before they were close enough to feel its presence.
There was little talk from any of the men. Dust coated their faces and lips. It wasn't long before all of them had the long scarves of the Legion wrapped around their faces to keep out the cloying dust. To open your mouth was to dry it out. It was easier to just try and let your body go with the movement of the Land Rover and nod, half-asleep, which would eat up minutes of heavy time.
They came to the wadi formed by the infrequent rains which gathered on Mt. Baguezane, ran off in floods to barely feed the sands, and then vanished, soaked up as if they had never been. But over the centuries the rains had cut away at the kalichi soil.
The wadi was wide enough at most places for two or even three vehicles to drive abreast in it. Boulders appeared more frequently. They had to steer around them, constantly changing gears to navigate through the wadi's maze of twists and turns, soft sand, and chock holes. The Land Rovers did noble duty. As they neared the mountain, the terrain outside the wadi became more rocky. Larger patches of brush and cactus spotted the landscape and inside the gully the going was even rougher. But they were getting closer.
Suddenly Mt, Baguezane loomed ahead of them. Heavy, ominous, it stood out of place. From a distance it had looked smooth and soft. Now it was clear that the mountain was anything but soft. It stood naked, daring them to come to it.
At last they came to where Dominic said they were to stop. Bodies ached. Every muscle had its own special pain. Gratefully the crew stretched legs and arms, twisting their backs to loosen them of the stiffness that had set in. Gus spread his arms out and breathed in deep, thumping his chest.
"By God, a little drive in the country does make one feel just marvelous."
He was roundly cursed by the rest of the party but only under their breaths. Carl felt the same way as the rest. Sometimes Gus could be a real pain in the ass.
"Okay, men," Carl commanded, "we wait here. Cold camp. No fires. Gus, set out a perimeter and see that everyone gets fed and watered. The rest of you stay out of the sun and if you want to lie down, scrape away the top layer of sand. It's so hot it'll pull the moisture out of your body, but underneath the top layer it's cooler. Find cover and rest. Drink your fill but do it slow so you don't get sick. If you fall out you'll be left to get back on your own, and you know what the chance of that is. None!"