Yosef nodded. He took the gentleman by the elbow and handed him off to a nearby Guardsman, who escorted the Englishman to the driver’s door. The keys were in the ignition. Yosef’s small force spread out. Yosef raised his hand and made a circling motion with his finger. Other Guardsmen hurried back to the intersection where they could guard the milk truck and watch the Westerners at the same time.
The truck roared to life.
The driver saluted Yosef.
“Good luck. Colonel.”
“Good luck to you, also.”
The truck lurched forward, gears grinding to the driver’s unfamiliarity with the Russian vehicle’s loose clutch and tight transmission. Yosef and the remaining Guardsmen walked behind the truck until it picked up speed and passed through the intersection. The two point Guardsmen turned toward the harbor while the others took up positions around the milk truck.
Mohammed stepped from the doorway. He had been inside the building, searching for Westerners when the shooting started. By the time he raced down three flights of stairs the fighting was over. Mohammed watched from this vantage point until the Palace Guard and the milk truck passed through the intersection. He gave them several minutes before he eased out of his hiding place.
He walked among the dead, checking to see if any were still alive. He prodded each comrade’s body with his combat boot. Finally, he came to Kafid. Kafid had a nice hole through the forehead. No major loss to the revolution, Mohammed thought. Better that Kafid died at the hands of the enemy than having a comrade like him kill him. Mohammed spit on Kafid’s body and then kicked it hard several times.
“See the dead, Kafid. If you had not been blinded by your own evil they would be alive.” He kicked the body again and then turned, leaving the carnage behind him. Mohammed walked quickly and carefully to the intersection and peered around the corner. He caught a glimpse of the milk truck vanishing into the darkness. It was headed toward the harbor. That was where this street ended. Mohammed ran across the intersection in the same direction of the truck full of Westerners.
An hour later the milk truck stopped. It could go no farther. A chain-link fence topped with rolls of razor sharp barbwire ran along the perimeter of the harbor. Two Guardsmen finished cutting a hole in the fence.
“Ah, that feels good,” said Aineuf as Yosef helped him out of the milk crate. Aineuf stretched. He lifted first one leg and then the other.
“Can you hear the bones creak?”
Yosef shook his head.
“No, you’re right. Only the owner of old bones hears their complaints.”
The Guardsmen forced their way through the opening.
Yosef ripped his shirtsleeve on a sharp edge of the cut fence as he maneuvered himself through the opening. The diminutive Aineuf stepped through easily. The armed group walked between two towering warehouses. Yosef felt hemmed and urged them through the alley quickly until they saw the piers.
Several large merchant ships and a couple of tankers rocked slightly against their lines. Yosef ignored the huge ships. He pointed to the right, toward the private piers two wharves away. If they stood any chance of escaping Algiers, it’d have to be on a yacht or fishing boat or something a bunch of land-weary soldiers could manage. If they turned to him to show them how to run a boat, then they’d be paddling their way out of Algiers. But, first find a boat and then worry about how to operate it. They were soldiers, not sailors, but Yosef knew they were going to have to learn seamanship the hard way.
Two point men raced ahead, leapfrogging from box to crate to crane as they sanitized the area ahead. A hundred yards behind walked Yosef with President Aineuf. The remaining Guardsmen flanked the two men, with two other Guardsmen bringing up the rear.
Ahead, a hand came up. They stopped and quickly took cover behind harbor fixtures and abandoned pallets of crated goods. The go-ahead signal came several seconds later. The group rose and commenced its silent progress once again.
Sergeant Boutrous hurried back to Yosef.
“Mon colonel, there is a fishing trawler down the next pier with a light on. A very faint light, but I saw someone walking in front of it. They may be preparing the ship to leave.”
“Very well. Sergeant Boutrous, take two men and seize the boat.” Yosef motioned to the corporal on the left flank even as he gave directions to the sergeant.
“Try not to use your weapons, if possible.”
The corporal ran across, crouched, and saluted.
“Corporal Ghatan, take two of your men and go with Sergeant Boutrous.”
Boutrous saluted and ran to the right. Tapping two on the shoulders the three raced ahead, followed by Ghatan and the two other Guardsmen.
“Mr. President,” Yosef walked back to the president and said, “I have dispatched a squad to seize a fishing boat that may be preparing for sea. If so, we will board and depart Algiers.”
President Aineuf sighed.
“Colonel Yosef, maybe my place is here, leading the fight for my country. What will the people think of their president sneaking out of the country, hiding in a milk crate, and now fleeing in a fishing boat? Someone must stay to give them encouragement.”
“Mr. President, I understand how you feel. But Algiers is lost and the best place for you to lead the fight is elsewhere and, if you stay here, you will be killed. You can’t lead it dead. It is a sad day whenever a patriot runs, but sometimes it is true what they say about retreating so you can fight another day.”
“Colonel? You should have been the politician. I don’t think the cliche is how you phrased it. I think it is more about running away so you can fight another day.”
“I, too, wish we could have fought better. To see our country fall in two days …”
“Don’t blame yourself. Colonel Yosef. No one saw this coming, nor did we suspect that the PLA was so well organized.
We will return. That I promise you. We will regain our country, restore peace, and when we do, we will make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
They stopped at the end of the cement pier leading to where the fishing boat was tied. The squad leaped aboard the vessel. Two minutes later a Guardsman jumped from the boat to the pier and waved for them to hurry.
“Come on, sir. The boat is ours.” Yosef placed a hand under the arm of the aged president, noticing for the first time the long wisps of hair, which Aineuf meticulously combed every day over his bald spot, matted to the side of his head, exposing the man’s dark dome.
“Yosef,” said President Aineuf, pulling his arm away, “I’m not that old.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“That’s alright. I know you’re concerned for my safety-my health. And I am grateful, you know? Without this dash to safety, we would both be greeting Allah at this time. I am thankful my wife did not live to see this.” The fishing nets were grouped along both arms of the trawling equipment. The vessel’s square portholes, painted a dark, unrecognizable color in the faint light, stood out against the fading white wooden hull. A small, faint bulb burned near the ship’s controls. This was the light that had attracted Sergeant Boutrous’s attention.
Belowdecks Yosef heard men talking and was surprised when a woman’s soothing voice joined the chatter, trying to quiet the sudden squalling of a baby. He turned to the Guardsman on the pier with a questioning look.
The Guardsman smiled and shrugged.
A chubby middle-aged fisherman, wearing a tattered shirt, crawled up on deck accompanied by two Guardsmen.
Bowing continuously, the fisherman begged, his hands clasped together in front of him.
“Please, do not kill me and my family. We are just a poor fisherman’s family, trying to stay here in safety until morning.”