He emerged into the compound in time to see the mules die. And to see the already dead horses.
Gallast did not allow himself the weakness of emotion. Nor did he continue theorising. He turned to one of his men who came running out of the building.
The man was obviously bewildered and frightened. He spluttered and waved a wild hand. Gallast struck his cheek with an open palm. It was a hard blow and the man staggered. But he lost his hysteria. He provided what information he had.
“The legionnaires… they’ve seized the bunk room!”
“Seized it! With six guards there!”
“Only three… Sarle went to look for the pitchers then two of us left to find him because the pitchers were behind the stove…”
Gallast extended a hand and gripped the man’s jacket. He drew him towards him.
“Now,” he said, “tell me exactly what you know since you released the legionnaires.”
The second description was more detailed.
“We were looking for Sarle when we heard the shooting. We had a glimpse of the inside of the room just before the door was locked. The Dutchman—the sergeant—was wounded, but he had a gun. The others had gone mad! They were rushing at our men…”
Gallast put a couple of quick questions. The answers helped to complete an outline picture of what had occurred.
He stood completely still. Sweat dribbled down the sides of his powerful face. Fury and fear, the twin allies, struggled to gain possession of him.
He knew fury because of the seeming ineptitude of his men.
He knew fear because of what would almost certainly happen to him if he had to report failure of his critical operation. His own life, he knew, would have no more permanence than a naked flame in a storm.
For the second time that morning he conquered his emotions. But only after a mental battle which left him feeling weak, exhausted. Yet it also left his mind cold and clear.
What, he asked himself in the orthodox military manner, was the garrison’s ultimate reason for shooting the horses and mules?
That was easy to answer. They intended to destroy all means of escape to the Keeba Foothills.
Had they succeeded?
Only partly. Two horses had survived. So—one of them could carry the nearly helpless Daak. The other could be laden with supplies. And he and his men would march…
He glanced at his watch. Nearly eight o’clock. Thirty-one hours before the explosion. Plenty of time, even on foot, to reach Keeba. And to prepare the complex protective trenches. The garrison could remain as they were. Bottled up in the bunk room, they could not interfere with the departure.
But…
Gallast was uneasy. Surely it could not be as simple as that? Why, for instance, had D’Aran not delayed the rising until tomorrow, when it would have been impossible to reach safety before the explosion?
D’Aran was young. It was obvious that he’d had little practical experience as an officer. But he was no fool. There must be a reason for choosing today of all days.
Gallast decided to talk with the Frenchman.
He was turning back into the building when Daak emerged. Daak weaved rather than walked. His skin was yellow, save for blue patches under the round eyes. Gallast noticed that his clothes, which had formerly strained to contain his belly, now hung loose.
Daak said between heavy breaths: “I’ve been talking to one of your men… he told me…”
Gallast subdued a sense of revulsion at the fat little man. At all costs Daak must be preserved.
“There’s no need to worry, professor,” he said. “It is a temporary inconvenience. No more. It merely means that we must leave here immediately. You will have a horse. The rest of us will walk.” Daak considered. He swallowed painfully and whined: “But the legionnaires… we must overcome them first.”
Gallast misinterpreted the motive.
“It would not be worth the losses,” he said. “Some of them are armed and they are in a strong position. No, professor, I’m afraid you must resign yourself to the fact hat they won’t stay in the fort to die. They may even try to follow us to the foothills. But in any case, there will be no human remains for you to examine after the explosion.”
Daak boggled for words. Then he erupted a spate of them.
“It’s my instruments that I’m thinking about! What about my instruments? As soon as we leave here the legionnaires will come out of their room and smash them! I know they will… I know! And it will all have been for nothing… nothing…”
He was sobbing as he finished. But Gallast paid no attention. He was momentarily stunned.
Of course, Daak was right!
That must be one of the reasons why he had felt uneasy. That was one of the indefinite spectres which had haunted his mind. And it had been the preposterous Daak who had pointed it out to him! There was no time to waste.
Since the legionnaires certainly would not surrender, they must be destroyed. Every one of them must be killed before the fort was evacuated.
How?
Grenades were the answer. Splinter grenades which he had seen stored in the tiny magazine beneath D’Aran’s room. One of them would destroy the bunk room door.
Two or three more tossed into the opening and nothing could survive in such a small space…
But before that happened he would spare a few minutes to talk with Lieutenant D’Aran. He was curious about one or two matters…
In the bunk room…
Keith said: “Gallast’s taking a hell of a time. Maybe he’s not going to talk.”
D’Aran consulted his watch. Twelve minutes past eight. About fifteen minutes since the horses had been massacred.
“He’ll be bringing up the grenades,” D’Aran said. “He’s bound to think of the grenades. But I’m sure he’ll want to talk to me. Particularly when he realises that Sarle has vanished…”
The fort magazine was entered through a trapdoor in the floor of D’Aran’s room. It was even smaller in area than the room itself, and less than four feet deep. In it was stored six spare Lebel rifles and bayonets, ten boxes of .300 ammunition, and one stout steel case containing two dozen de-fused hand grenades.
Gallast lifted out the case personally and unlocked it with the fort keys. The fuses were stored in a small compartment under the lid. He inserted them with skilful fingers, holding down each detonating spring as he did so. Then he pressed home the anchor pins, which made each grenade comparatively safe.
He had just finished the task when one of his men came in.
He said: “Comrade Colonel—we cannot find Sarle!”
“Cannot find… are you sure he wasn’t one of those left in the bunk room?”
“I’m certain, comrade colonel. He was guarding the legionnaires who went into the kitchen. Then he left to find the pitchers.”
“Then he must be in the fort! Are you all blind as well as being fools? No man can be lost for long in this place!”
“But he’s not in the fort…”
“Of course he’s in the fort! The main gates are barred. He could not have got out there without being seen. Or are you suggesting that he flew over the walls?”
The man shuffled and made no answer. Then Gallast asked: “Did anyone see him leave the kitchen?”
“I—I don’t know…”
“You don’t know! Imbecile! All of you were handpicked for this operation. It was said that you were soldiers of outstanding daring and experience. Perhaps you are. But you also have the imaginations of donkeys! While I tried to get a little rest you allowed yourselves to be outwitted at every turn…”
He broke off, realising that his vituperation was costing valuable time. Then he indicated the grenades and added: “Assemble those at the corner of the passage leading to the bunk room. And tell every man to gather at the same place. Before I destroy the legionnaires I’m going to find out exactly what they’ve been doing…”