Flyaway

Suddenly the donkey which Atitel was leading brayed vigorously and plunged, butting him in the back so that he fell. He gave a cry and Byrne ran up and stamped at something on the ground. When I got to him I saw it was a snake.

'Horned viper,' said Byrne, and ground its head to pulp under his heel. 'It scared the donkey.'

It had done more than that because Atitel was sitting up holding his leg and groaning. Byrne examined it and looked up at me. 'It's broken,' he said flatly. 'Christ!' I said. 'What do we do now?'

'Make a splint for a start'

That wasn't as easy as it sounded because we had nothing suitable for a splint other than the barrel of the rifle. Unexpectedly, it was Paul who came up with a good idea. He tapped a jerrican which was hanging on the flank of a donkey and it rang hollowly. 'This empty?'

'Yeah.'

'We can bash it with rocks,' said Paul. 'Flatten it. We ought to be able to make some sort of rigid splint.'

'We can do better than rocks,' said Byrne, and went to a donkey and unpacked the cloth-covered bundle he had brought. From it he produced a hammer and a cold chisel. 'Get that can on the ground.'

It took time and the desert rang with the sound as it echoed from column to column but eventually we splinted Atitel's leg, padding it first and then binding the metal with strips ripped from a gandoura. He had stopped groaning and looked on interestedly as we did it.

When we had finished Byrne squatted next to him an d uttered the first words of what proved to be a long conversation. I said to Paul, 'God knows what we'll do now. From what Byrne told me last night we're ten or twelve kilometres from where the old man said he saw the plane.'

'We'll go on.' Paul's face was set in stubbornness. 'Be reasonable.' I waved my hand at the chaos all about us. 'How the hell can we find it without a guide? This, Paul — this bloody Godforsaken land — is the reason it wasn't found in the first place. You could walk within ten yards and never see it.'

'We'll go on,' he said. 'And we'll find it.' I shook my head and looked to where Atitel was drawing with his finger in the sand. Byrne was asking questions. I shrugged and went to help Hami adjust the harness on one of the donkeys where the edge of a jerrican had chafed and worn a sore spot in its hide.

Half an hour later Byrne stood up. 'Okay; Atitel and Hami are going back. The old man can ride a donkey and Hami will lead another with enough food and water for the two of them. He'll take Atitel to Tamrit and then go down into Djanet for help.'

I said. 'They might run into Lash.'

'I've told them about Lash. They know enough to keep clear of him. Hami will go back a different way.' He laughed shortly. 'I said it's a blood feud; they understand that.'

'And us?'

'We go on.' I looked at Paul, who was grinning. 'Atitel's landmark is unmistakable, according to him. It's a big rock column about two hundred feet high and split from the top to half-way down as though someone has driven a wedge into it — you know, like splitting timber. He says all we have to do is to keep going the way we are now and we should see it in a couple of hours.'

'And the plane?' Paul's voice was shrill.

'Is about three kilometres north-west of the split column.'

It was chancy. Atitel's idea of north-west might not coincide with Byrne's compass, and I didn't like the sound of that 'about three kilometres' — it could be anything from two to four, more or less. I figured we might have to search five or six square kilometres. Still, it was better than the situation I had envisaged when talking to Paul.

I said, 'Can you guide us back to Tamrit? I don't know that I could.'

'Yeah. I've been taking compass bearings.' Byrne looked from me to Paul. 'Well, what about it?'

Paul nodded vigorously, so I shrugged. If it was a question of taking a vote I was out-voted. I said, 'It's all right with me as long as Atitel will be okay. It's a long way back to Tamrit and then he'll have to wait alone while Hami goes down that bloody ravine and on into Djanet. Do you think it's fair on him?'

'It's his idea,' said Byrne. 'He don't mind the broken leg just as long as he can get it set properly. He says he's broken that leg before. What he's really worried about is his ten goddamned camels. He wants them.'

'Then tell him to pray to Allah that this is the aeroplane we're looking for.'

We redistributed loads on the donkeys and then the two Tuareg went back, with Atitel riding a donkey led by Hami, his splinted leg sticking out grotesquely at right-angles. Then there were just the three of us left with five donkeys. I led two and so did Paul, while Byrne coped with one so that he could have a hand free for his compass.

I was mildly surprised when we saw Atitel's landmark after a two-hour march. It didn't seem possible that things could go right for us -1 had half expected that we'd have to search for the damn thing — but there it stood unmistakably as Byrne had described it, a tall tower which looked as though a giant had taken a swipe at it with an axe and had cleft it from the top.

We camped at its base. Paul was all for going on the further three kilometres to the north-west but Byrne wouldn't have it. 'It's late,' he said 'I didn't mind night marches with Atitel; I trusted him. But any one of us could bust a leg in the dark. We'll leave it until morning.'

So we left it until morning and breakfasted before dawn, then set out as soon as it was light enough to see clearly. In all my years, even in the army, there was never a period during which I made as many dawn starts as in the desert. We marched three kilometres, Byrne setting the direction and pacing us. That took an hour. Then we stopped in the middle of nowhere and unloaded the donkeys and hobbled them so they wouldn't stray.

The landscape was anarchic; a disorder of rock columns, a hugger-mugger of hiding places. Peter Billson's plane could be within a hundred yards but there was no way of knowing. I said into silence, 'It could have burnt out.'

'No,' said Byrne. 'Atitel said it was intact. He's seen planes before at the airstrip at In Debiren and he said that this plane still had its wings on. He said it was exactly like the plane in the picture.'

'That's incredible! You mean Billson landed in the middle of all this in the dark without bending anything. I don't believe it.'

'He was a good pilot,' protested Paul.

'I don't care if he could fly as well as the Archangel Gabriel — it still seems bloody impossible.'

'Maybe the angeloussen helped him,' said Byrne. 'Now, we've got to do this real careful. No one goes off alone. We keep in sight or sound of each other. If you're out of sight keep hollering.' He stared at Paul. 'In this mess a guy can get lost awful easy so mind what I say.'

Paul mumbled assent. He was quivering like an eager dog who wanted to go and chase rabbits. I said, 'I didn't look at those photocopies too closely. How big is this Northrop?'

'Forty-eight feet wingspan,' said Paul. 'Length, thirty-two feet. Maximum height, nine feet'

It was bigger than I had assumed. We were looking for something in an area of, say, fifteen hundred square feet I felt a bit better, but not much.

'We spread out in a line, Paul in the middle,' said Byrne. 'And you take your direction from me.'

And so began the search. We quartered the area in overlapping sweeps so as not to miss anything, and it was damned hard work. This was not a mere matter of making a march; we had to cover and inspect an area, which meant scrambling over rocks and looking behind every column in that broken wilderness.

We searched all day without finding anything but rocks.

That night Paul was dispirited. He huddled in his djellaba and aimlessly tossed a stone from one hand to the other while staring blankly with unmoving eyes. I didn't feel too good myself and said to Byrne, 'What do you think?'