Free Sands of Destiny by E.C. Tubb Page B

said, and pointed towards the Colonel. “You did this.”
    “Nonsense!” Marignay licked his thin lips with a nervous gesture. “Probably some tribesmen trying to gain credit by attacking the fort. They will break and retreat at the first charge.”
    “You think so?” Gerald sneered and spat a mouthful of blood. “The hills are alive with raiders. The fire from their guns makes the night seem like day. Men died where they stood, the watchtower guard, the sentries, others.” He swayed and his grimed hand fumbled with the pistol in his belt. “Cochin! Je vous mort pour....” He staggered again his mouth filling with blood before he could finish the threat, and, as Corville reached out to steady him, the Captain fell lifeless to the floor.
    Miss Carson screamed. She stood. her eyes wild, her hair disarranged, and shrieked at the unaccustomed sight of freshly spilt blood. Clarice moved to comfort her and Dick, his face white and drawn, looked at Corville.
    “Is it bad?”
    “Yes.”
    “Can I help?”
    “Stay with the women. See that they stay away from the embrasures and out of the line of fire.” Corville stepped over the dead man. “I must see what has happened. I’ll return when I’ve learned the state of things.” He looked at the sobbing woman and gestured towards the wine. “Give her a drink, slap her if you have to, but make her keep silent.” He was gone before the American could do more than nod.
    Outside, beneath the glowing stars and the swollen moon, the night had turned into a flame-lit hell.
    Bullets whined like bees over the scarred merlons, whining as they ricochetted or making a soggy thud as they ploughed into soft and yielding flesh. The fire was the heaviest that Corville had ever experienced and. as he squinted at the winking points of light, he swore with an unusual savagery.
    “Machineguns!”
    “Two of them.” Sergeant Smith, his face grimed with sweat and dirt, squatted beside the lieutenant as he stared towards the surrounding hills. “Spandaus I reckon, or maybe they’ve managed to get hold of a couple of Vickers. Whatever they are they’re bad.”
    “The caravan,” said Corville sickly. “The machineguns must have been among the load. Sacré! I could have stopped all this.”
    “You could have died,” agreed the sergeant, “but I doubt if you could have stopped it.” He pointed towards the moonlit desert as he gave a quick explanation of what had happened. “They must have crept to within the very shadow of the walls before opening tire. They have all the cover they need while we are illuminated by the moonlight. The first shot killed the watch-guard, and it was followed by a volley that killed most of the sentries. Before we could beat them back they had dug themselves in, too close for comfort, and those damn machineguns are sweeping the walls.” He stared over his shoulder. “Where the hell is the Captain?”
    “Dead.”
    “And the Colonel?”
    “He’ll be out soon.” Corville spat into the darkness. “He has his guests to worry about.”
    “Guests?”
    “Didn’t you know?” Corville looked at the bleak face of the sergeant. “Three of them, two women and a man.” He shrugged. “The man can fight, most Americans know how to use a rifle, but the women....”
    “They can act as nurses.” Smith ducked as lead chipped dried brick from the merlon behind which be crouched. “Your orders, sir?”
    “Let them waste their ammunition as long as they wish.” Corville squinted into the darkness. “We can’t see them as well as they can see us, but we have thick walls and they can do us no real harm. When they charge we must be ready to beat them back.” He looked down the line of waiting men, each with his loaded Lebel, his bayonet at his side and his water canteen to hand. The dead lay where they had fallen, stiff and cold in the pale light of the setting moon. “Release the prisoners from the cells, arm them, and have them issue a half-litre of wine