Duncan peeked around the corner. “Come on, Beau. Good luck, Colonel.”
“Captain.” Yosef grabbed Duncan’s arm. “Did you find any food or water?”
“No, just a bunch of pissed-off Arabs. See you at the truck. Don’t be late, Colonel.”
“We won’t, but don’t leave us,” Yosef said, a hint of menace in his voice.
Duncan touched Yosef’s shoulder. “SEALs don’t leave anyone, Colonel.”
Duncan and Beau dodged into the street, keeping close to the front of the nearby houses as they ran. Once in the alley, they straightened and began a wild dash down the four-foot wide passage.
A minute later they reached the end. Sounds of shooting and a minor explosion told them Yosef and the Guardsmen had engaged the rebels.
“Let’s hope they hold them long enough,” Duncan said.
The two men leaned against the walls. They peered around the corners.
Dead bodies swayed from each lamppost to disturb the stillness of the empty street. The hot sun created shifting heat waves above the rough pavement.
The two men dashed across the street. Disturbed from their feeding, hundreds of crows rose from the day-old bodies, filling the afternoon sky with their displeasure. The ripe, sweet smell of sun-rotted flesh assaulted the two men as they ran past more streetlights — a decaying body swinging from each created a macabre gauntlet along their path.
The sound of combat from Yosef’s direction increased in intensity as they crested the hill. Below, the truck was parked under the small green awning of a deserted petrol station.
“Captain!” Lieutenant H.J. Mcdaniels shouted, startling the two. She crouched behind a small garden wall.
Ensign Bud Helliwell waved from the next garden. Across the street from H.J. and Bud, Chief Judiah and Gibbons held a cross-fire position.
Duncan and Beau jumped the low stucco and rock fence to land in a crouch beside H.J.
“What’s going on, Captain?” she asked.
“I think we stumbled on the people who did this slaughter. Colonel Yosef intends to hold them for at least ten minutes, then they’ll be coming the same way we did. We’ve got major problems and need to get the hell out of here. How much longer until they’ve got the truck refueled?”
“I don’t know, sir. I followed your instructions and deployed the team as soon as we heard the firing. Colonel Yosef and his men raced ahead.
Monkey and Mcdonald are down the hill in position with their MGs, guarding each end of the street.”
“Good thinking, H.J. We’re going down and try to hurry everything along. Colonel Yosef and his Guardsmen should be the next bunch to come this way. Don’t shoot them. Give them cover.
“Come on, Beau,” Duncan said, then shouted to the two men across the street. “Chief, you and Gibbons hightail it down to the truck and warn them!” In his haste to get everyone out of the village and escape the rebels coming their way, Duncan failed to consider that without the Chief and Gibbons, H.J. and Bud were left with no immediate backup and in an untenable position if the enemy attacked.
“H. J.” Bud,” Duncan said to the two. “As soon as Colonel Yosef and his men pass, give them one minute and follow. We’ll provide cover from below.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” the two replied simultaneously.
HJ.‘s hands tightened on the CAR-15.
Duncan and Beau leaped over the four-foot wall and ran down the hill to where the truck was parked. Chief Judiah and Gibbons followed. They swung their weapons to point down an empty side street that separated the petrol station from H.J. and Bud. The narrow street ran toward a small residential area leading to the outskirts of the village. A hundred feet further on, the SEALs passed Monkey at the base of the hill, his MG60 pointed toward the crest where H.J. and Bud waited nervously on point.
H.J. wiped her palm on her cammie pants.
“Sweaty palms?” Bud asked.
“Better than hairy ones.” She grinned.
The Volvo truck was a scene of scurrying activity. The metal cover of the petrol tank lay to one side. A hose snaked into the gasoline. The other end of the hose ran to a small five gallon can. A Bashir relative, with a second red five-gallon container at the truck, poured the contents into the fuel tank. Bashir milled around the area, shouting directions and encouragement as the obedient relatives ran between the truck and the fuel tank.
Mcdonald squatted on his haunches at the opposite side of the petrol station, barely visible from behind a garden wall, watching the street from that direction.
Gibbons joined two Guardsmen near President Alneuf. Al neuf had his handkerchief to his nose in a futile gesture to block the sickening smell of decomposing bodies that permeated the atmosphere of this small Algerian village. The lack of wind trapped the stench within the village. A small park across from the petrol station had been used as an execution field. About sixty bodies lay haphazardly on top of each other against a ten-foot-high white wall. The wall was pockmarked with gray holes where shots had hit and ricocheted.
Petrol, food, and the necessity of leaving the highway before dawn had driven them into the interior of the country. They’d stumbled on this small village in the afternoon. The scope of the carnage had only become apparent when they were several blocks inside it. If fuel and provisions had been less critical, they would have continued their journey without stopping, but the silence of the village had given a false sense of abandonment.
Duncan and Beau ran up to Bashir.
“There are no young women,” Bashir said, an ominous tone in his deep bass voice. His triple chin bounced to the rhythm of his words.
“What do you mean?” Duncan asked, catching his breath. He rubbed his knee. His hand could barely feel the kneecap through the swollen joint. Water around the knee.
“The young women. All the dead that you see”—he waved his hand at the park across the road—“are men, old women, and children. The rebels take the young women for temporary marriages,” Bashir said caustically.
“And after they have raped and shared them, they cut their throats.
Sometimes, for entertainment, they cut this way”—he made a slashing gesture along each side of his neck—“so that they are not killed outright. Then they are hung by their heels to bleed slowly to death.
Sometimes they are mated with dogs and donkeys for the men’s entertainment. When they become bored, they kill them.”
“That’s disgusting!” Beau said.
“No, that’s the new Algeria, man capitaine,” Bashir said angrily. “It is the Algeria that President Alneuf fought against. I doubt the new government will allow this conduct to continue, but until stability returns to Algeria, this will be one of the hazards of the people.”
“How much longer until the truck is fueled, Mr. Bashir?” Duncan asked. They’d come here to rescue Alneuf, and instead found themselves fighting for their lives in the middle of revolutionary massacres.
Bashir shrugged. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. We have put five cans into the truck. We need another five to top off.”
“You have five minutes. Colonel Yosef is outnumbered and fighting a holding position against the Algerian rebels, so do what you can. We don’t have much time. Fill extra cans, but start getting everyone on board. You’re not going to have time to top off.”
The sound of an automotive engine drew their attention. A military truck careened out of the side street that separated them from H.J. and Helliwell. Monkey opened fire. The front tires exploded. Out of control, the truck crossed the street and crashed through the low wall, coming to an abrupt stop as it rammed the house a few feet beyond.
Rebels jumped from the back, firing as they ran uphill toward H.J. and Helliwell. The driver lay slumped over the steering wheel.
“Keep filling the truck, Bashir!” Duncan yelled as he and Beau raced up the hill toward the enemy vehicle.