The Dakota C-47 lurched a bit when Parrish banked it to the port. The head winds had reached them, slowing the plane's ground speed down to a little over a hundred miles per hour. For the next hour the plane bucked and rocked, swayed and dipped. Those lying on the floor woke up and sat back in their seats where they had the comfort of safety belts.
Parrish would have liked to go higher but his plane wasn't pressurized. Still he took it up to 12,000 feet. That was it. He had oxygen for himself and Rigsby but if he went any higher some of the guys in the back would start to pass out.
Gaining 1,000 feet helped a bit. At least he'd gotten above the sandstorm. Below him it was as though the floor of the desert had come up to meet him. It was a solid sheet of darkness sweeping past him. If he had stayed down lower it would have sandblasted his plane down to the frame.
He told Rigsby to tune in Radio Niamey for the weather report.
"Looks like the storm should be over in another hour or two, boss."
Parrish was glad. The plane was kept in good repair, but one never knew. The remote possibility of having to go down in winds of over fifty miles per hour with zero visibility was less than appealing.
"Glad to hear that. We'll just ride it out till it passes, then go in. By then we should have first light. I don't want to go down till then, anyway.''
Rigsby jerked his head to the rear. "What do you think about those guys back there?''
Parrish shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows. I'm just glad we're not going with them. It's bad enough hauling this crate around for a living."
Rigsby grunted in agreement. "Yeah, but it still seems a bit strange. You know, taking these guys in and knowing that not all of them will be coming back. Strange, kinda like we're a hearse rented in advance."
Parrish leaned back to get more comfortable. "Knock it off, Rigsby. They got their job to do and we got ours. Don't think too much about them. They're expendable. That's why they're here, and they know it. But I would like to think that we're not, so just keep this bucket's nose in the wind and off the deck till then. I 'm going to try and catch a few winks."
"You got it, boss. I'll wake you at first light. That should be in about two more hours." Rigsby took over the yoke.
Carl watched the faces of his men as they tried to sleep through the buffeting of the air currents. Gus was the only one who slept peacefully, his head bobbing and jerking from side to side as the plane rode the bumps. Sharif Mamud looked a bit green, maybe had a touch of airsickness. Carl checked his watch. Dawn would be coming soon. His eyes closed.
The winds below began to slacken until they didn't have enough force to keep the grains of sand flying. The storm was dying with the new day. The earth was still dark but to the west Rigsby saw the sun edging up over the rim of the world.
"Wake up, boss." He nudged Parrish. "Time to put this crate down."
Parrish stretched in his seat, trying to work out the kinks in his back. He extended his long arms, nearly hitting his copilot in the Face. "Sorry about that. Okay, I got her. Now let's take her in." They were 100 miles off course, which was no big deal. The Ahaggar Mountains could easily be seen off to the starboard.
Parrish banked to the port and lined up on the southern end of the range. "One hour till touchdown. Hope they got some coffee at the strip."
Carl's eyes came open when he heard the landing gear being lowered. The plane shuddered a bit, then steadied.
The sky was crystal clear, visibility unlimited. Parrish made one pass over the runway to check the wind sock. It was calm, though sudden gusts could blow up at any time. The strip had been cut by bulldozers leveling off a small mountaintop during the time when Fort Laperrine had been one of colonial France's southernmost outposts. Nothing had changed since the last time Parrish had been there: a few huts with metal roofs, a couple of frame hangars, some fuel tanks, and a building that had once housed a poor-man's control center. Now it was abandoned.
Lining the nose up he lowered his flaps to full and cut back on the throttle. One good thing about the C-47 was that it had a hell of a good glide factor with the cool morning air. He set it down easy, smoothly cut the power, and taxied straight to one of the hangars. Off to the side of the runway were a few goats under the care of shepherd boys, their eyes large with wonder as the plane coasted in.
As they taxied Rigsby hit the intercom mike, announcing to his passengers in the rear: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to lovely Fort Laperrine, onetime romantic outpost of the Foreign Legion, now host to an unknown number of ghosts and goatherds. While our captain taxies us in, please remain in your seats and observe the no smoking sign until we have come to a complete stop, at which time stay where you are, pending further instructions. Thank you for flying with us, and we hope we have made your trip as much a pleasure for you as it has been for us to serve you." Parrish looked at Rigsby with raised eyebrows. He hadn't said that much at one time since Parrish had known him. Rigsby just shrugged.
Rigsby's impression of an airline stewardess did much to set a good mood. It lightened the moment. As they taxied down the runway Carl looked out the porthole. There were three other aircraft visible, another Dakota and a couple of single-engine Cessnas. None of them had military or government markings.
Monpelier went to the cargo door and pulled it open, then leaned out to get a look around. Carl wondered who he was expecting. He didn't think the other crew in the Land Rovers could have made it in that fast, not with the storm of last night.
When they came to a stop in front of the open doors of a frame hangar with a tin roof and peeling gray paint, he heard a hail from the ground.
" Marhava yessun. Welcome, effendis, to Tamanraset."
Monpelier greeted the turbaned man in a threadbare white suit, with:
" Allah maak, Yousef."
"And God be with you also, Mr. Monpelier. All is as you requested. Please to leave your transport and feel at ease."
Monpelier pulled his head back inside "It's okay, he works for me." Carl saw him adjust a bulge under his shirt the size of one of the 9 mm before jumping down to the ground. Gus looked at Carl who gave him the nod. Gus took one of the Mats-49 SMGs out of its box and slapped a loaded magazine in it. When he did this, the rest of the crew instantly cleared any fog from their brains and were on the edge of their seats, ready to move.
"Sit still. I'm just playing it safe," Carl said. Gus moved to where he could keep an eye on Monpelier and Yousef, who was escorting Monpelier into the hangar.
Gus kept the submachine gun out of sight but ready to fire if needed. Monpelier went over to a few crates and drums, inspecting them, nodding his head up and down, then waved for the rest of them to come on in.
Carl stretched his legs before leaving. To the rest of the men he ordered, "Break out the pistols. Fill clips and take them with you but keep them out of sight. When you leave the aircraft, move loose and easy but place yourselves where we can keep an eye out for a full 360 degrees. Like I said earlier, I'm just playing it safe. Gus, you stay with the plane until I send someone to relieve you. I wouldn't want any of our cargo to disappear or get into the wrong hands."
The men did as he ordered and casually spread out. Carl followed Monpelier inside the hangar and found him talking to the Arab who had greeted him, a tall, thin man with hot eyes and long delicate fingers, wearing his white tropical business suit which had long since seen better days.
"This is Yousef, an old acquaintance of mine, Carl. He is a very useful man as long as you can outbid your competition. But at least he doesn't make any bones about it. You always know where you stand with him."
Carl nodded to the Arab. "Then he won't have any hard feelings if I let him know that if he does anything that screws up our job I will find him and kill him in a way that his ancestors would have appreciated."
Monpelier grinned widely. He always liked to provoke a reaction where he could. It made the job so much more interesting. Yousef had a wary look to him as he tried and failed to meet the gaze of the scar-faced man.
"He means it, Yousef. He will find you and do exactly as he has said he would. Perhaps you heard of him during the troubles. Some of your people gave him a nickname, al-Kattel, the killer. Does that ring a bell, old boy?"
Monpelier was obviously delighted with Yousef's reaction. Suddenly sweat beads appeared on his brow and upper lip. A slight nervous tremor shook the hand that wiped the sweat away with a yellowish handkerchief. He had heard of al-Kattel.
" La, ya akhi! You misjudge me, sirs. I am an honorable man doing only my very best for my friends. I assure you that I am here only to serve your needs. See, have I not delivered to this most difficult and lonely place all that you asked of me?" He indicated the fuel drums and supplies. "In the office I have also installed, as per your instructions, the radio. It is a most fine radio, sir. With it you can speak to the whole world if you should so desire. Please do not think that I would break our long friendship by a hasty act."
Monpelier had to control a burst of laughter that had started low in his gut and threatened to explode out his mouth. He swallowed to keep it down and said quite seriously, "I know that, old friend. And now I am certain that your new acquaintance will become a good friend to you also, providing you both live long enough to learn to appreciate each other's good points."
Nodding his head at what had once been the hangar office he said, "Come with me. We might as well get as comfortable as possible."
As they headed for the office, Parrish and Rigsby were already checking over their plane, getting it ready for the next flight. They wouldn't lie down until that was done. They'd learned from past experience that it was best to be ready for an instant takeoff.
The office still held some furniture, a rolltop desk, two cane chairs, and a couch whose leather cushions had cracked and dried. Carl chose a chair.
Monpelier went to the desk, on which sat the radio. He turned it on to check it out. Satisfied, he turned it back off. "This is so I can keep in contact with you for most of the time and perhaps be able to provide any extra assistance you might need. There will be one more like this with the Land Rovers."
They were interrupted by Sims sticking his head in the door. "I say, sir. Your man, you know, the big brute, is asking about food and drink. What should I tell him?"
Carl looked at Monpelier, who said, "Tell him to come on in. Yousef has provided for that as well. Find him and tell him to get everyone fed."
Sims looked at Carl for confirmation. After all, he was their leader now.
Carl nodded in agreement. "Go ahead, Sims, and tell the others to take it easy but keep an eye out. Also, I want the crates with the weapons brought inside. The rest of the gear can stay on the plane."
"Very good, sir."
Sims disappeared to do as he was told.
Monpelier grunted. "Very conscientious, that one, n'est-ce pas? "
" Yes, I think he'll do all right. But right now I would like to know when the rest of the team will be in. That storm will probably have slowed them down."
Monpelier agreed. "You are right, of course, but if they haven't had any motor trouble, even with the storm they should be in by nightfall or early morning at the latest. If you want to rest some more there'll be some sleeping bags among the gear that Yousef brought. They're good ones — American army."
"Not right now. I'll wait a while."
Carl left Monpelier in the office. He wanted to get outside for a while. Here in the Ahaggars the air was cooler. At night it would drop to freezing quite often. Just out of sight behind a ridge was Fort Laperrine. He had been there before, years ago when they had fought the Tuaregs and Riff raiders that had been driven from the Atlas Mountains into the desert. The town was like all the others. For centuries it had been a juncture where caravans could rest and water. Whoever controlled the Ahaggars controlled access to the heart of the Algerian Sahara. " Vive la Legion. "
He nearly laughed. When he thought about it he had enough time in the Legion to collect a half-dozen pensions. A shiver rippled over his forearms. The Ahaggars had never meant anything but trouble, and now he was back. He wanted to get out of them as soon as possible.
Nothing to do but wait for the others to show up. If they didn't make it in time then what? Would he be able to go in with what he had? Not likely but not impossible, if they had a death wish. It was hard as hell to scare men who were ready to die. He knew he had at least one, Dominic… and maybe Sharif Mamud.