Chapter 21
Egypt's Western Desert
The rising sun washed a multitude of colors across the desert's barrenness. Kym
found it splendid, much more appealing than the starkness of the previous night, yet
she sensed it didn't hold the same fascination for Derek, who barely gave the
landscape's brilliant pallet a second glance.
Though the road remained rough and sometimes seemed non-existent to those
used to driving California's freeways, the coolness of the morning made travel easier.
Little more than an hour after setting out, they descended into the deep depression of
the Farafra Oasis, the smallest, most remote community in Egypt's Western Desert.
Kym was surprised at the charm of Qasr el-Farafra, the little village that had grown up
around what had once been a qasr, a mud brick fortress long since fallen to ruin. She
was amazed at the pleasant, palm lined streets with their brightly decorated houses,
and at the resilience of these people who took such pride in the midst of this isolation.
The southern climb out of the depression was gentle and easily handled by all
of the vehicles. Off to the west, high, red cliffs rose in startling contrast to the yellow
sands and greenness of the oasis. Farther south, the dunes, moving with slow
inevitability, increasingly threatened to wash across the road, like tides upon a beach.
* * *
Late in the morning, the caravan made its midday camp about ten kilometers
north of the checkpoint at Abu Minquan. Safwad knew of a desert track that branched
off from the main road to join the ancient caravan trail that they would take west. As
the tribesmen set up their makeshift shelter and built a small fire to brew their tea, the
older man joked, in somewhat "rustic" Arabic, that, wherever possible, it was best to
avoid the bureaucratic busybodies at the government checkpoints... just to confuse
them all the more.
Kym crawled into the back of the army truck to nap through the worst of the
heat, while Derek draped a blanket over its open door. Sitting on the running board
with his back against its curving fender, he again buried himself in his files. Sloan and
Johnny threw up their own canvas lean-to and made a small fire for coffee.
As William dozed beside him, the former major busied himself with taking apart,
cleaning, and oiling first a Beretta, then the Ingram. "This sand can be deadly for these
weapons," he commented, "...one grain where it shouldn't be and... no bang for your
bucks."
"Hmmm," mumbled the precept, "let's hope we won't need any bangs."
Boyle glanced over at Derek, whose head was beginning to nod. "Is Derek
OK?" he asked Sloan. "He seems distracted... kind of remote."
"How should I know? We're not exactly on cordial terms," replied William,
raising his head to look over at the younger precept. "I think he's 'seen' something."
He swatted at a fly that had come along for the ride.
"A vision?"
"I think so," said William quietly. "He wouldn't say anything to me about it."
"Wonder if he said anything to her."
Detecting a cloaked hostility in the soldier's tone, Sloan glanced up. "I doubt
it," he said. "He usually gets like this when he's trying to sort it out."
"He's a puzzlement," Boyle commented, again gazing over at Derek. "I don't
think I'll ever understand him... I like him," he added quickly. "Hell... I respect him...
not an easy thing for an old warhorse like me to say about a younger commanding
officer... in fact, I can't say that about too many people I know," he said with a dose
of bitterness, "...present company excepted."
Sloan wondered at the major's sudden talkativeness... must be the boredom, he
thought.
As he laid the guns down on the rags beside him, Johnny repeated "But, I'll
never understand him."
"None of us will, Major Boyle," William confided. "I've been at it since he was
sixteen... I'll think I've got him figured... then he tosses me a curve ball that I don't
have a hope in hell of seeing."
* * *
As the heat of the day grew, all dozed to conserve their strength and escape their
misery. The sun's baking rays throbbed against the blinding hardpan to ricochet into
the cloudless, cobalt skies. In the distance, the rugged cliffs that sheltered Farafra from
the sand seas rose behind a bluish mirage, where water, not sand, seemed to flood the
road. Off to the west, bronze tidal waves billowed toward the horizon.
Suddenly, a burst of gunfire shattered the desert's oppressive stillness. A man,
as hard-bitten as any wild animal, strode into the center of the camp. Others, dressed
in various pieces of native attire mixed with military garb, stood with guns leveled
around the outskirts.
"Isri!
"Kym! Stay down!" Derek shouted as he was pushed away from the truck. He landed hard on his knees at Johnny's feet. The two guns were right in front of him, but he couldn't reach them. Instead, when he tried to rise and was kicked back down, he managed to toss a rag in the weapons' direction.
Kym, who had burst awake at the sound of the gunfire, heard her husband's warning and the orders shouted in coarse Arabic. She dropped to the floor and crawled back to the pile of sleeping bags and tarps under which the gun crate was concealed. Quietly, she cracked it open, reached in, and pulled out a Beretta. She felt for one of the nine millimeter clips, then cautiously inserted it into the gun's handle. Pulling out her shirttail, she tucked the small pistol into the back of her pants, and waited for the "enemy" to discover this terrified, helpless woman.
Kym was amazed that she was calm and could even chuckle in the midst of this madness. She heard the tailgate of the Mercedes drop with a clang. She knew should could do it. She had to do it... Derek was out there. Should she shoot the man who would discover her, or should she wait until they hauled her out? She decided on the latter to allow herself time to see the lay of the land.
Suddenly her musings were at an end. A rifle barrel was aimed at her chest. "Get out!" a man shouted in Arabic. As she climbed down, the bandit, clad in desert camouflage fatigues, jerked her by the arm and shoved her into the side of the truck, knocking the breath from her. There was no need for her to act terrified... she was.
Kym glanced over at Derek, who, with the others, had been forced to his knees with his fingers locked behind his head. She didn't need to see the rage in his eyes, she could feel it surge from his soul... a cold deadliness that shocked her. She gave him a slight nod and tried to scream out the thought, Wait!
Derek returned the nod and cast his eyes down to the pile of oily rags beside Johnny's knees. She understood.
Johnny waited with a soldier's patience... all he needed was a flash of a second. These men were careless, as they, themselves, had been. He watched, studied... nothing about them was professional, which could make them all the more dangerous. As they turned their attention toward ransacking the vehicles, they had left only two to guard six men and none to guard a mere woman. But... he had to find his opening before they found the guns.
Suddenly, the breach was there. He felt Derek's foot nudge his own. From the corner of his eye, he could see the younger man's gaze shift toward his wife. Johnny watched as Kym slipped her hand behind her back. Abruptly, she pulled out the pistol, dropped to her knees, and took aim at one of the guards. She fired and hit the man in the shoulder, then threw herself under the truck and took aim at another. The soldier was amazed, or would be when he had the time.
The moment Kym fired, Johnny grabbed for his own guns. In an instant, he had the Ingram. He fired off a blast and rolled. The others scattered, scrambling for cover as the would-be robbers returned fire. The major spotted William, flattened behind a mound of sand. "Sloan!" he yelled as he lobbed the Beretta in the precept's direction. Off to the side, he saw Daud pull an old service revolver from the folds of his homespun caftan.
Within a moment or two it was over. The bandits, facing the firepower of a machine gun, had fled. Johnny dropped his head into the sand to catch his breath and bring his heartbeat back to normal. Finally, still fighting to quell the adrenalin rush, he pushed himself up.
"Is everyone OK?" called Sloan as he climbed to his feet.
Crawling from beneath the old army truck, Kym looked over to see the three tribesmen nod and grin in response. Young Ali was bouncing with excitement, while Safwad clapped his younger brother on the back and inspected the ancient revolver.
William brushed himself off and handed his pistol to Boyle. "We got off lucky," he commented. "Absolute fools to think we were safe enough... here in the middle of nowhere... to take a snooze without a guard." He shook his head in disgust.
Sloan looked up as Kym approached, "Excellent shot, my dear," he said. "I didn't know you had it in you."
Kym gave a small half-smile and handed her pistol to the major as well. "Where's Derek?" she asked, looking about the tumbled camp.
Both men glanced around. "I think he went left when we split for cover," said the precept.
From the far side of the camp, Kym heard Ali shouting, "Hunah! There!" He was pointing toward the Mercedes off the to left. Kym followed his gestures. Slowly she rounded the front of the truck, unsure if the Padwig man had seen her husband or one of the native brigands.
"Derek?" she said quietly. "Honey... are you there?" Then she saw a hand extended beyond the truck's tire... Oh, God!... a hand with a blue and gold precept's ring.
"William! Johnny! He's down!" she cried as she ran to her husband's prostrate body.
Kym threw herself to the ground beside him. "Derek," she wept. "Honey...." His face was turned away from her. Timidly, she ran a trembling hand along his back, then gave him a soft shake. Grasping his shoulder, she started to roll her husband over. "Derek... sweetie, are you all right?" she murmured. Terror squeezed her throat... she could barely breathe.
At Kym's scream, both men knew what had happened. As they skidded around the front of the truck, Johnny saw Kym kneeling by Derek, about to roll him over. "Don't move him!" he shouted. "Christ!" She'd put him through this before.
"Let me see," the major ordered as he came up behind the woman. He grasped her shoulders to move her, but she wouldn't budge.
"Derek?" she whispered, holding fast and again giving her husband a light shake.
"Kym!" Boyle shouted, "For God's sake... get out of the way!"
As if in a trance, she pushed the soldier back. "Derek," she said again, clutching his light gray shirt.
Johnny gripped her arm to pull her away from the fallen precept, but, for a small woman, Kym had more than enough strength to momentarily fend him off. "Sloan... help!" he pleaded.
"Kymberlee... move!" William bellowed. He grasped her around the waist and heaved her to her feet. Still she tried to cling to Derek.
The soldier twisted the chambray fabric from her fingers. "Let go... bitch! Or I'll break 'em!" he yelled as he pried open her hand.
Sloan lifted Kym off her feet to haul her back. Still she struggled. "Kym!" he shouted. "Stop this! You're acting like an hysterical child. Derek needs help and you're preventing him from getting it."
"Oh," Derek groaned. He tried to get his hand under his chest to push himself over.
"Derek... can you hear us?" questioned Sloan, who retained his hold on Kym. An uncharacteristic quaver crept into his voice.
The major leaned over the younger man. He saw blood trailing along his temple. "Lay still, Derek." His fingers searched for the pulse. "I don't think he was hit," he said over his shoulder. "Somebody get me the first aid kit."
Kym calmed once she had realized that her husband was on his way toward consciousness. Sloan let her go, then went to retrieve the medical supplies. She slipped around behind Johnny to kneel at Derek's head.
"Let's roll over," the soldier told his friend. He got the injured man by the shoulders and slowly helped him push himself over.
"Oh... my head," the precept moaned as he relaxed into his wife's lap. Blood trickled across his forehead and down his cheek. Kym's stomach churned at the sight.
The former officer pulled out his key chain. With its small flashlight and quick expertise, he checked Derek's eyes, which responded normally, then parted his hair to find the source of the blood.
William returned with the medical kit, set it down and flipped it open for Johnny. "How are we doing?" he whispered into his ear.
Boyle nodded, then searched through the box for the roll of cotton and the bottle of alcohol. He soaked the cotton and began to swab away the blood.
"What happened?" Derek asked.
"You tell us," said Sloan, leaning over to scrutinize his friend's ashen face.
Derek tried to push himself up, but dizziness and nausea got the better of him. "I don't know," he grumbled. "I was diving for cover... and... I think... I tripped and hit the tailgate."
William straightened. "Of all the lame-brain...," he growled. "You're supposed to duck, Jethro," he said with cold sarcasm, "... not ram your head into the side of the goddamned truck. I hope the iodine hurts like hell." He sighed as relief replaced his fear.
"Get him patched up, major. We've got to get on the move," Sloan said. Already, he was gesturing to the drivers to get things packed up and ready to move out. "Derek," he said, turning back, "you're riding with me.... Boyle can drive your Rover."
Johnny nodded to Sloan, who leaned over. "Keep an eye on him for concussion," he whispered. "Don't let him sleep."
The precept squeezed the major's shoulder in silent understanding. He looked down at Derek, then at his wife. "Kymberlee," he said sharply, "you interfered with Major Boyle when he was trying to render medical aid. If you ever behave in such a manner again, it will be your last time in the field."
Ignoring the rebuke, Kym stroked her husband's dark hair. "Honey, are you all right?" she asked gently.
"No," he replied in a voice harsh with embarrassment. "I feel like a bloody idiot that's been kicked in the head by a mule.... Help me up. Is everybody OK?"
"Everyone's fine," answered Kym, her eyes tearing as her panic slipped away.
Johnny placed his hand on Derek's shoulder. "Stay down," he commanded, "till I have a better look at that. You're still bleeding."
| CHAPTER 22 |
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