Blue Warrior

A megaphone barked in French in his dream. Distant, echoing. Strong mint tea made his mouth water. He woke. Pearce was on his feet before his eyes were fully open. It was dark in the cave, save for the fire pit and one lantern. He glanced up at the chimney hole. Still dark outside. Checked his watch. An hour until sunrise.

“No worries, Mr. Pearce. Just our friends announcing their arrival,” Mossa said. He was pouring tea. “Still time to eat.”

“What is he saying?”

“An invitation to surrender peacefully. If I refuse, he will come and seize me by force.”

Early was rummaging through the food crate. “How in the hell am I supposed to know what’s in these things?” He pulled out a black plastic bag. “It’s all in Turkish.”

“Think of it as a box of Cracker Jack.” Mossa laughed. “Take what you can get.”

Early grabbed three bags and hustled back over to the fire. “How do you know about Cracker Jack?”

Mossa feigned personal injury. “I may be a desert brigand and a feared terrorist, but I am not uncivilized.”

Pearce scanned the darkened corners of the cave. “Where are the others?”

The electronic voice echoed again. Pearce didn’t need to know French to hear the anger and fear.

“Balla and Moctar are out there, preparing to greet our friends. The women were moved to another cave further back for safety, along with the boy. When this is all over, there is a village that will take them in until they can return to their families.”

“How did you convince the boy to go with the women?”

“I gave him my pistol and told him to guard the women with his life. The best way to cure a young boy’s fears is to give him a man’s duty. Even at his age he feels the power of caring for those he loves.” Mossa nodded, agreeing with himself. “Yes. He will be a fine warrior someday.”

“And Cella?”

“Worried about your ‘friend,’ Mr. Pearce? Don’t. Early has his eye on her. So do I.”

“She’s doing one last check on the women before we haul out of here,” Early said. “Then she’ll come with us.”

“Us? It’s just me, remember?” Pearce had called Judy earlier with the map coordinates for the Algerian airstrip.

“It’s a dangerous journey alone,” Mossa said. “I will take you myself.”

An explosion in the distance.

Pearce knew the sound all too well. “Mortars.”

“And so it begins.” Mossa smiled, holding out a glass of tea to Pearce.

“And where he goes, I go,” Cella said, dashing into the cave, breathless. She dropped down next to Mossa, threw an arm around him in a brief hug. He patted her hand, handed her a tea.

Another explosion.

Pearce felt the earth tremble slightly under his ass. Medium mortar round, a hundred yards downslope. Closer. Still finding the range.

Early cut open the pouches. “Bingo. Looks like crackers, a bag of apricots… and chocolate.”

Three more explosions walked up the mountain, each closer than the last.

Mossa laughed. “You see? Just like Cracker Jack.”

* * *

The mortar rounds fell like hailstones on a tin roof. Lots of noise, little effect. Sheltered by tons of granite, most of Mossa’s people were hidden in mountain caves or natural spider holes. Heavy weapons opened up below. Diesel engines raced. The symphony of death. Pearce knew the tune well.

“What about aircraft?” Pearce asked. His stolen M4 was slung over his shoulder.

“They know we have missiles, so they will stay above twenty thousand feet. If they drop bombs from that height, they are more likely to hit their own troops. Useless.” Mossa burped, checked his watch. “They will begin their advance any minute now.” He glanced up at the cave ceiling, listening. The mortars stopped. So did the machine guns. The last echo of gunfire faded into silence.

“This won’t take long,” Mossa said. “You are welcome to remain in here and have some more tea.”

Pearce held out a hand. “After you.”

Mossa snatched up his automatic rifle and dashed through the low-ceilinged entrance, Pearce close behind and Early in the rear. They had all helped themselves to ammo and hand grenade stores in the caves. For the first time since he had arrived in Mali, Pearce felt ready to go.

Mossa led them to a covered lookout nestled in tall stones and pointed out the battlefield, then the sky. Vultures circled overhead in the early-morning light. He pointed them out. “They always know, even before the first shots.” Three lines of black Malian soldiers in camo threaded their way up the hill behind three BTRs just like the one back in Anou, each line about a hundred yards apart. They met no resistance.

The southernmost APC was the first to broach the deep trench, taking a steep angle of attack to minimize the downward slope. When the front wheels crested the far end of the trench, the nose of the vehicle pointed nearly skyward, like a whale breaching the surface of the ocean.