The horses were there. Thirteen of them, plus the mules. They were tethered to individual wood stakes which had been driven into the ground. They were less than fifteen yards away. Slightly beyond and to the left were the tents where Gallast’s men slept.
D’Aran checked the ejection action of his pistol. Then he turned a tense face to Keith.
“I feel more sympathy for the horses than I do for the two-legged swine,” he panted. “But this has got to be done… don’t miss…”
They aimed carefully through the bars. And a second afterwards the air was again filled by the harsh explosions of Luger cartridges. It was a cruel, satanic spectacle.
The first four slugs were well directed. Each hit an animal in the upper part of the head. They were dead before they fell sideways to the ground. But by this time the others had taken panic. They reared on their hind legs as though performing in a circus ring and whinnied like sobbing children.
An expert marksman using a rifle under ideal shooting conditions might have been able to dispose of them humanely. But it was beyond the powers of two men, holding unfamiliar pistols, and aiming between iron bars. Several shots missed completely. Most of the others hit where they would kill but slowly. These fatally wounded horses lay beside the more fortunate dead threshing their hooves.
But two of them escaped entirely.
Both were powerful mares which were tethered further away than the others. As they reared they dragged the stakes out of the baked ground.
Then they bucked wildly for a moment before stampeding towards the tents.
Keith managed to aim a shot at one of them, but it churned up the sand far ahead. Then they had passed the tents and were out of sight, although the thudding of their hooves as they circled the compound could still be heard.
D’Aran said: “Wait! They may be back.” They waited for a full minute. But suddenly the thudding ceased and there was a distant cry of voices.
Keith said: “They’ve been caught… those swine have still got two horses.”
“Two horses won’t be much use to them, man ami,” D’Aran said.
Keith gestured towards the mules.
“Have they got to go?”
“Oui… I fear it must be so.”
In a sense the killing of the mules was more unpleasant than that of the horses. It was so easy. They were such extraordinarily philosophical creatures.
During the entire carnage they had remained quite still, there heads together like old men in conference. They even died with decorum. And Keith and D’Aran were able to make the end quick.
It had seemed longer, much longer, but they had been at the window less than two minutes when they turned from it to survey the room.
D’Aran breathed relief. “Bon… they are doing well.”
The legionnaires were indeed doing well. After D’Aran’s sharp reprimand they had remembered and acted according to the carefully prepared plan.
Sergeant Vogel’s body had been dragged under a wall. The guards were trussed with ropes which had bound the legionnaires. And four heavy iron cots had been piled against the door. A fifth cot was in the process of being upended into position.
They formed a formidable barricade.
And as yet there had been no counter-action from Gallast and his remaining men. There had hardly been time.
One of the legionnaires had retrieved Vogel’s pistol. D’Aran called him over.
“How many rounds have you?” he asked.
“Twenty-nine, man officier. Two spare clips were in the sergeant’s pocket and there are nine rounds in the magazine.”
D’Aran nodded. He examined his own gun. It was empty. Keith had one remaining cartridge in the breech. They crossed to the two guards—both still only semi-conscious and badly bruised. They opened their ammunition pouches. Each contained two clips of ten.
D’Aran was looking thoughtful as he moved to the door to make a close inspection. With its reinforcement of iron, a battering ram would be needed to break it in. Satisfied, D’Aran gestured to the legionnaires. They gathered round him in the centre of the room. He spoke in a low pitched voice and slowly, so that all would clearly understand.
“I don’t need to tell you how fortunate we’ve been, mes soldats. So far, audacity has succeeded, thanks particularly to two of you…”
He did not look at Keith, or towards the body of Vogel.
D’Aran continued: “I have to tell you that we now hold the advantage. This room is a fort within a fort. The enemy now numbers only eight men—I am not in-cluding Professor Daak. There are twenty-seven of us. We have water. They have not. They have yet to find out that the body of one of their men is in the storage tank, plus a quantity of salt…”
There was a strained titter at this which D’Aran subdued with a frown.
He went on: “The enemy has but one advantage—fire power. They possess our Lebels and practically limitless ammunition. We have only three Lugers and exactly seventy rounds. But it will be more than enough. For, mes soldats, we are no longer the prisoners. It is they who are captured…
“Think of their position. They cannot leave here because they have neither the water nor the transport. Unless they want to be destroyed with us, they will have to allow us to send a message through to the High Command.
“So I do not think there will be more bloodshed. All we can do now is wait until I can speak to Gallast—and I think we shall be hearing from him very soon.”
3. So Softly Spoken…
Gallast had experienced a disturbed night. Professor Daak had been the cause. Daak was as unhappy in the nocturnal cool as he was in the daytime heat. He tossed restlessly on his bunk, which was placed under D’Aran’s desk. Occasionally he dropped into an uneasy doze and then he rambled. He quoted problems in differential calculus in his high-pitched voice and provided the answers. He delivered disconnected extracts from a paper on nuclear physics. And when he awoke, he moaned about the condition of his heart and the agony in his head.
Gallast—only a few feet away on what had been D’Aran’s bed—found it maddening. It made sleep almost impossible.
Several times he was on the point of shouting abuse at the paunchy Daak. But he refrained. For by now it was clear that the professor was seriously ill. And the professor represented the entire basis of the operation.
The secret penetration into Algeria on horseback, the daring and magnificent capture of a small Legion outpost, the carefully organised plane lifts… they would all be nothing if Daak could not complete his work.
At home men were eagerly awaiting the results of Daak’s investigations into tomorrow’s explosion.
Daak, with his phenomenal scientific brain, would be almost certain to deduce many secrets of the bomb after consulting his recording instruments. And the bodies of the legionnaires would give him further valuable data.
No, Daak must not be worried. Somehow he must be kept fit enough to work.
So Gallast tolerated the disturbances.
And it was not until towards dawn that the professor allowed him to fall into a light sleep.
He awoke to the sound of gunfire.
Gallast reacted instinctively.
He was pulling on his clothes before his brain began to work. Then, for a few confused seconds, he tried to assess the possibilities.
Had a Legion patrol arrived, through some hideous mischance? No—all the shooting was coming from within the building.
Had a legionnaire escaped? That was highly unlikely.
The whinnying of the horses gave him a vague clue. Then, through the window, he caught a glimpse of two animals careering round the compound. He heard the shouts of his men and the hoofbeats slowed and ceased.