The report from Pitt's automatic slammed deafening in his ears as a group of five Malians melted away in front of him. There was no retreating or covering up as long as the Malian security forces held their ground.
Face to face with a wall of men, Pitt emptied his pistol and then threw it before he was hit in the thigh and fell to the ground.
At the same moment, Colonel Gus Hargrove's Rangers came pouring into the fort, laying down a murderous fire that took the late General Zateb Kazim's unsuspecting forces by complete surprise. Resistance in front of Pitt and the others seemed to melt away as the stunned Malians became aware of the assault on their rear. All courage and rationality dissolved. On a flat battlefield it would have been a complete rout, but within the fort there was no place to run. As if obeying an unspoken command they 'began throwing down their weapons and clasping their hands behind their heads.
The intense firing quickly became sporadic and finally died away altogether. A strange silence settled over the fort as Hargrove's men began rounding up the Malians and disarming them. It seemed an eerie, disquieting moment for the sudden end of the battle.
"Good Gawd!" one of the American Rangers uttered at seeing the unbelievable amount of carnage. From the time they had burst from the train and charged across the desert separating the fort from the track, they had jumped over and dodged around a vast carpet of dead and wounded, often so many they could not step between them. Now inside the demolished fortress, the bodies were piled three and four deep in some areas of the rubble. None had ever seen so many dead in one place before.
Pitt painfully lifted himself up and hopped on one leg. He tore off a sleeve and wrapped it around the hole in his thigh to stem the flow of blood. Then he looked at Pembroke-Smythe who stood stiffly, gray-faced, and obviously in great pain from several wounds.
"You look even worse than the last time I saw you," said Pitt.
The Captain stared Pitt up and down and casually brushed a thick layer of dust from his shoulder insignia. "They'll never let you in the Savoy Hotel looking as shabby as you do either."
As if resurrected from the grave, Colonel Levant rose from the incredible devastation and limped toward Pitt and Pembroke-Smythe, using a grenade launcher as a crutch. Levant's helmet was gone and his left arm hung limply at his side. He was bleeding from a gash across his scalp and a badly wounded ankle.
Neither man had expected to find him alive. They both solemnly shook hands with him.
"I'm happy to see you, Colonel," said Pembroke-Smythe cheerfully. "I thought you were buried under the wall."
"I was for a time." Levant nodded at Pitt and smiled. "I see you're still with us, Mr. Pitt."
"The proverbial bad penny."
Levant's face took on a saddened look as he saw the pitifully few men of his force that moved forward to surround and greet him. "They whittled us down somewhat."
"We whittled them down too," Pitt muttered grimly.
Levant saw Hargrove and his aides approaching, accompanied by Giordino and Steinholm. He stiffened and turned to Pembroke-Smythe. "Form up the men, Captain."
Pembroke-Smythe found it difficult to keep a steady voice as he assembled the remnant of the UN Tactical Team. "All right, lads…" He hesitated, seeing there was one female corporal helping to hold up a big sergeant. "And ladies. Straighten up the line."
Hargrove stopped in front of Levant and the two colonels exchanged salutes. The American was stunned at seeing the meager number that had fought so many. The international fighting team stood proud, none unscathed, everyone a walking wounded. They looked like statues, they were covered with so much dust. Their eyes were deep-sunk and red, and the faces haggard by their ordeal. The men all wore stubbled beards. Their combat suits were torn and filthy. Some wore crude bandages that were soaked through with blood. And yet they stood undefeated.
"Colonel Jason Hargrove," he introduced himself. "United States Army Rangers."
"Colonel Marcel Levant, United Nations Critical Response Team."
"I deeply regret," said Hargrove, "we couldn't arrive sooner."
Levant shrugged. "It is a miracle you are here at all."
"A magnificent stand, Colonel." Hargrove glanced around the destruction. Then he stared past Levant at the battle-weary fighters lined up behind, an incredulous look on his face. "Is this all of you?"
"Yes, all that's left of my fighting force."
"How many under your command?"
"About forty at the beginning."
As if in a trance, Hargrove again saluted Levant. "My compliments on a glorious defense. I've never seen anything like it."
"We have wounded in the fort's underground arsenal," Levant informed Hargrove.
"I was told you also were originally convoying women and children."
"They are below with my wounded."
Hargrove abruptly turned and shouted to his officers. "Get our medics up here and take care of these people. Bring up those from below and evacuate them onto the transport choppers, double quick. The Malian air force can show up any second."
Giordino walked up to Pitt who was standing off to one side and embraced him. "I thought this time, old friend, you weren't going to make it."
Pitt still tried a grin despite the waves of fatigue and the gnawing pain from the bullet hole in the fleshy part of his thigh. "The devil and I couldn't agree on terms."
"I'm sorry I couldn't have put the show on the road two hours sooner," Giordino lamented.
"No one expected you by train."
"Hargrove couldn't risk flying his choppers through Kazim's fighter defense screen in daylight."
Pitt looked up as an Apache warbird circled the fort, its sophisticated electronics probing over the horizons for intruders. "You made it through without detection," he said. "That's what counts."
Giordino looked into Pitt's eyes guardedly. "Eva?"
"Alive but badly injured. Thanks to you and your air horn, she missed dying by two seconds."
"She came that close to being shot by Kazim's mob?" Giordino asked curiously.
"No, shot by me." Before Giordino could reply, Pitt gestured toward the entrance to the arsenal. "Come along. She'll be happy to see your Quasimodo face."
Giordino's face grew sober at the sight of all the wounded with their bloody bandages and splints lying jammed on the floor of the cramped area. He was surprised by the damage caused by falling stones from the ceiling. But what stunned him most was the incredible silence. None of the wounded uttered a sound, no moan escaped their lips. No one in that crumbling arsenal cellar spoke. The children merely stared at him, totally subdued after hours of fright.
Then, as if on cue, they all broke into weak cheers and applause at recognizing Giordino as the one who brought reinforcements and saved their lives. Pitt was amused by it all. He had never seen Giordino display so much modesty and embarrassment as the men reached out to shake his hand and the women kissed him like a long-lost lover.
Then Giordino spotted Eva as she raised her head and flashed a wide smile. "Al… oh Al, I knew you'd come back."
He crouched beside her, careful not to make contact with her injuries, and awkwardly patted her hand. "You don't know how glad I am to see you and Dirk still breathing."
"We had quite a party," she said bravely. "Too bad you missed it."
"They sent me out for ice."
She glanced around at the others suffering around her. "Can't something be done for them?"
"The medics from the Special Forces are on their way," Pitt explained. "Everyone will be evacuated as soon as possible:"