Still, Jeux thought, it must be just as bad for his men. They all looked tense after the long spell of waiting.
They were specially selected, those fifty legionnaires. Not a freshly trained recruit among them. Each was battle hardened, each a tested veteran. And each of them looked it, as they crouched around gripping their specially issued Piet guns.
It had, Jeux conceded, been a good idea of Monclaire’s. A stroke of genius, in fact. He had realised that the Arabs would not be able to check upon whether the whole of the garrison left Sadazi. So why not leave a small, highly efficient group behind? And conceal them until the moment when there was the best chance of rescuing both the hostages and the two legionnaires. The clock tower was the best place to hide. The moment before the hideous execution was best in which to strike. And, strangely enough, Monclaire had suggested that he, Jeux, was the best man to lead the operation. Why? Because it would be so easy to let the Arabs and that woman believe that he was drunk and helpless in the first-aid wagon.
It had not been very flattering, of course. But Jeux was dispassionate enough to know that he had not done much recently to justify flattery.
It was one minute to eight. He could see that by the inside reflection of the clock hands. He had been looking vertically upwards almost every other second for the last ten minutes. Thank heaven it was not over. The time had come.
Jeux stood up. He drew out his pistol. The legionnaires saw him do it. They did not need any further orders. They cocked the pins of their Piets. They sucked their lips. Those tough, villainous looking fighting men were already savouring the delights of battle. Jeux absorbed some of their confidence.
“Avant!” he shouted.
For a fraction of a moment he was surprised by his own voice. It was not rusty any more. It was strong. It had a ring to it…
His command was taken up by the men.
“Avant…!”
They stormed down the narrow, circular stairs behind Jeux. They burst out on to the parade ground.
The clock still showed half a minute to eight when they reached the perimeter of the rifle range. Then the air was torn by the ghastly clatter of the Piets.
But the first casualty was not caused by a Legion Piet.
It was caused by an eighty-year-old Beloni musket. A muzzle loader. And it was fired by the Man With Asthma.
With it he sent an uncovered lead bullet across twenty yards of space until it ended in the chest of Annice Tovak.
The slug, utterly unexpected, knocked her sideways as if she had received a blow on the shoulder. Then she spun slowly and gracefully round, clutching the place between her breasts.
There was an oath on her lips when she died.
One of Jeux’s main worries had been whether he could capture and hold the barracks until Monclaire returned. His arrival was timed for thirty minutes past eight.
Jeux need not have felt any concern.
The recapture of the barracks was no problem at all, for the Touaregs had not yet properly occupied it. The later resistance was negligible. The Touaregs were shocked, humiliated, dazed and leaderless.
The rest of the garrison returned to a very quiet and a very law-abiding Dini Sadazi.
At nine o’clock a bugle sounded. Its thin notes were strangely lovely on the morning air. And at the same time the Tricolour went up on the flag mast.
Monclaire was watching from Jeux’s room. His face was lined and weary. But his eyes were bright.
“I’ve kept my word,” he whispered to himself. “I swore that the civilians would not die. And I swore that the Tricolour would rise again…”
Jeux, who was standing at his side, said: “Pardon?”
But Monclaire pretended not to hear.
At eleven o’clock…
Monclaire’s company left for the Tutana region. The capitaine smiled at Rex and Pete as he inspected them before departure.
“You all right, mes legionnaires?”
“Oui, capitaine.”
“Fit to march?”
“Oui, capitaine.”
“It has been quite an experience…”
At noon…
General Panton was most annoyed. He held a radio cipher slip. He glared at it. Then he turned to his aide.
“This,” he declared, “is intolerable. The message here says that the patrol was delayed by some three hours before departing for Tutana. They say there were some minor civil disturbances which have now been settled. Dieu! What nonsense! Can’t Jeux deal with a noisy rabble without having to call on the entire garrison? It wouldn’t have happened in my day…”
Copyright
Copyright © 1954 by John Robb
Copyright © 2011 by Anna Robb
John Robb has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1954 by Hamilton & Co Ltd.
This edition published in 2018 by Endeavour Media Ltd.