“But it will take many hours, even with twelve men. Could we not leave earlier? Why delay so long?”
“You want the legionnaires to be alive right up to the moment of the explosion, don’t you?”
“But of course! If I am to know the precise effects of thermo-nuclear radiations on living tissue I must…”
Gallast cut in with an angry gesture.
“Then as a man of science you ought to know that they cannot last much longer than twenty-four hours without water and in the full heat of this sun. Don’t forget—when we leave them they must be bound so they can’t move an inch.”
Daak licked a pair of shapeless lips. The eyes behind his pince-nez suddenly flickered with academic interest.
“That is quite so. Forgive me, I was forgetting. And they must be placed in the exact spots I mentioned—half of them in the compound so that I can gauge the protective value of the walls, the rest just outside the south of the fort, where they will receive the full thermo-nuclear radiation.”
Gallast looked thoughtful. He said slowly: “You know, Daak, I don’t like you! You can talk with complete indifference about the fate of the garrison—not that I blame you for that. I am indifferent, too. But you are a coward when it comes to your own safety. As a soldier, I have a natural antipathy towards cowards.”
“You are insulting me! I, Daak, have…”
“I know! You are our foremost scientific brain. I don’t deny it. But that’s your trouble, Daak. You’re all brain and no back-bone… but enough of this. I have a very important signal to send to the gentlemen on the Legion High Command. I must satisfy them that all is well…”
He sat at the radio table.
D’Aran’s code book was lying among the assortment of valves and wires. Gallast worked with it for a full half-hour, checking and rechecking his message before switching on the set and picking up the earphones.
He tapped out the Fort Ney recognition signal, cursing the aged apparatus as he did so. \
At last, after a long delay, a series of powerful long and short stabs rang in his ears. He made a brisk consultation with the code book.
The reception signal from Sidi Bel Abbes. Gallast braced himself. Then he transmitted the message.
From officer commanding Fort Ney. To secretary, High Command. All Arab populations now removed from area. Am evacuating garrison at 22.00 hours this day, as ordered.
He had scarcely finished when a return signal came from Sidi Bel Abbes. Gallast grabbed a pencil and took down the Morse. Then he transcribed it from the cipher key.
Please repeat from word ‘garrison’. Last part of message not received clearly.
Gallast referred to his original coding and sent out the repetition.
There followed twenty minutes of silence, save for the static from the earphones.
Then, after the usual preliminaries, Sidi Bel Abbes said: Explosion will take place as planned at exactly 15.00 hours, July 8. Follow previously issued safety instructions exactly. Bon chance.
Gallast was breathing almost as heavily as Daak as he switched off. But he was smiling.
“At 22.00 hours tonight,” he said, “I will destroy this radio set. There may be a test signal from Sidi Bel Abbes after that time to see if the place has been evacuated. They must be convinced that it is so. There must be no chance whatever of their picking up an answer.”
Daak said: “Who would do that? You’re the only one who can work the set?”
“I know that. But some fool might come in here and switch on. If that happened, the High Command station could get an answering beam. I insist on absolute safety.”
But Daak made no comment. He had closed his eyes behind his pince-nez and was rapidly falling into a heavy doze.
Gallast put on his out-moded pith helmet and went into the glaring heat of the compound. It had changed vastly in the past few days. Beneath the south ramparts more than a score of curiously designed instruments had been assembled under Daak’s supervision. Some of them were linked to powerful high-tension batteries. All were enclosed in thick metal cases which had been cemented into the ground. The legionnaires were providing additional protection by filling sandbags and placing them round the base of the instruments.
In a sense, Gallast had been relieved by the way the garrison had worked. Even after the example of Legionnaire Paffal, he had expected to have to deal with other rebellious incidents. But there had been none. The garrison had done as they were told. Sullenly, of course. But competently. They had not even answered the screeching vituperations of Daak.
Which, perhaps, was odd… Gallast had an uneasy feeling that they would try something soon. Time was running out, and he could scarcely expect nearly thirty tough soldiers to accept their ghastly and humiliating fate without some show of resistance.
Still, he was ready for it, Gallast told himself. His men would know how to handle them.
He approached Lieutenant D’Aran who, because his shoulder had not yet healed, was engaged in the comparatively light work of knotting the tops of the sandbags. There was, he decided, no reason for refusing D’Aran the final details. Gallast had a precise sense of fairness.
“You know the date, lieutenant?”
D’Aran straightened. He seemed to have become thinner in the recent days. Those premature lines had deepened at the corners of his mouth. There was a sense of strain about him. Like a spring waiting to be released. He nodded at Gallast, but did not speak.
“It is today that you were due to quit the fort. I have just had a radio exchange with your High Command and I’ve told them that you are leaving to plan.”
D’Aran showed a faint flash of expectancy. Gallast detected it. He said: “No—there’s no cause for hope there, lieutenant. The High Command did not suspect that anything is amiss. I took the greatest care. I studied copies of previous messages so as to get the correct style— though it is not very different from our own. And, of course, I used your invaluable cipher book.”
“It’s very interesting. But why are you telling me this?”
“Because soldiers about to die are entitled to the last relevant details, even though they don’t always get them. It only remains to tell you that we will not leave the fort until two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Your own evacuation schedule was based on the assumption that you would be marching. We can afford to linger a little longer because we will travel on horseback.”
It may have been to cover a dangerous show of emotion that D’Aran said: “It will be the end of a dirty piece of work… monsieur.”
The use of the civilian form of address was a calculated affront.
Gallast tensed.
“I do you the courtesy of addressing you by your rank. Please do the same for me! I am Colonel Gallast.”
D’Aran smiled. Then, with studied deliberation, he turned his back and continued work on the sandbags.
When Gallast had gone, D’Aran beckoned to Keith. As Keith was ostensibly preparing to drag a laced sandbag away D’Aran, whispered: “They leave tomorrow afternoon! For us, it is tomorrow morning—or never!”
“Speaking in broad terms,” General Jonot boomed, I would say that we have fulfilled the trust placed in us. I have just finished examining the final survey reports from Zone Zero and I find them satisfying. There is no indication of activity by hostile agents. And, I am delighted to say, there has been remarkably little trouble with the Arabs…”