Free Hell's Legionnaire by L. Ron Hubbard

both there. And, after another short interval, Maurice and Montrey were on
top and out of sight behind a boulder. Kraus, grunting and sweating, rolled
over the edge and reached back to help Ivan.
    I took a sight along
the ridge, discovering that it ran in the direction we wanted to travel. There
did not seem to be any immediate end to it and so we struck out, running
rapidly from cover to cover, keeping the Berbers out of sight with a swift and
certain rear-guard action, taking turns at staying behind.
    By the moonlight,
about 2 AM, I stopped and
consulted Copain’s map. He had marked a water hole about a mile from our
course.
    â€œWe’ll get something
to drink now,” I said. “But we may have to fight for it.”
    â€œWhy so?” challenged
Montrey. “Our retreat is losing those devils at the rate of a hundred a mile.”
    â€œThere are other
tribes through here,” I replied. “And water holes are few and far between. See
that fire about six miles behind us?”
    He looked back and
stared at the blinking point of light.
    â€œThey’re passing a
blanket before that flame,” I said. “They must have learned a few tricks from
the French. Anybody ahead of us will be on the scout, looking for us. And
they’re bound to protect the water holes.”
    â€œOui, mon commandant,” said Montrey with an
ugly, twisted smile. “You frighten me out of my senses.”
    Ivan laughed, but
Maurice fumbled with his Chauchat as though he wanted to squirt lead.
    We went on. The
dryness of our throats was increased by the rising dust. But the others did not
seem to care. Their minds were far ahead of us, over the ranges of the High
Atlas, and they dreamed of a mysterious, uncharted city where riches could be
picked up for the effort of reaching.
    We spotted the water
hole far below us and began the descent to it, sliding through loose stone. In
the lead, I stopped and held up my hand. The others stopped behind me. An
errant breeze had come up from the ravine and with it had come the odor of wet
steam. The message was obvious. A fire had burned there until a few moments
before. The Berbers had poured water over it in the hopes of ambushing us when
we came down to drink.
    â€œThey’re waiting for
us,” I said.
    â€œLet’s go down,”
insisted Montrey. “We can’t go without water forever.”
    â€œAll right, Montrey.
If you’re so thirsty, lead the way with an auto-rifle.”
    He went ahead after
giving me a hard look. Ivan had been busy with his pet. Mounting a rock, he
straddled the tripod legs and pulled back the loading handle of the machine
gun. I followed Montrey.
    A rifle roared ten
feet in front. Other rifles began to rave. The Chauchats went into action; the
machine gun rolled out a guttural bass to the overture. Berbers howled. That
which had been a black rocky pit suddenly swirled with white robes and lashing
flame.
    I dived behind a rock
and began to fire into the thick of it with my Lebel. It was impossible to
miss.
    Hastily organizing
themselves, the hillmen rolled out of the semicircular rock amphitheatre like a
typhoon. In an instant they were all around me. Ivan’s gun sent a burst
ricocheting off my boulder. The Berbers drew away from me.
    I saw Kraus pick up a
hillman by the waist and pitch him bodily back into the thick of the rush.
    With three Chauchats
and a machine gun backing up rifle fire, the noise was head-splitting. A
hundred men pounding on a hundred anvils could not have made a greater racket.
Evidently it was too much for the Berbers, for to my right the gorge began to
fill up with men.
    For a heart-stopping
instant I thought that reinforcements had come for the hillmen. Then a shaft of
moonlight showed me that their faces were turned away. I sent a parting clip
into the stragglers and then silence settled down upon the water hole.
    As I approached the
small pool, I saw a big hillman lying in my path. He was