Flyaway

Byrne stepped over to Billson. 'Let's see your shoulder.' He examined it and shook his head. 'You couldn't do it, Paul. More abrasion and more sand in there and you'll get gangrene. Keep it wrapped up. Let's move.'

And so we set off again – Tip the airy mountain, down the rushy glen' – the mountain bit was real enough and it was certainly airy on that cold morning, but there were no rushes and the valleys were anything but glen-like, although welcome enough because they gave a brief respite for level walking.

I pictured us as four ants toiling across a sand-box in a children's playground. At mid-morning, when we stopped to take on water, I said, 'To think I liked building sand castles when I was a kid.'

Byrne chuckled. 'I remember a drawing I once saw, a cartoon, you know. It was in a magazine Daisy Wakefield had up in Tarn. There was a detachment of the Foreign Legion doing a march across country like this, and one guy is saying to the other, 'I joined the Legion to forget her, but her name is Sandra.' I thought that was real funny.'

'I'm glad you're keeping your sense of humour.'

Billson was doing all right. He didn't say much, but kept up with us just in front of Konti. I had the idea that Byrne had detailed Konti as rearguard to keep an eye on Paul. Although he kept up with us I doubt if he'd have been able to if he still had water to carry. His wound was troubling him; not that he complained about it, but I noticed he favoured his right arm when he took a tumble and fell.

There wasn't much point in stopping long at midday because we had nothing to eat and only needed to drink water. Byrne said, 'Okay, Max; take off your pack.'

'We had drunk from my jerrican at the mid-morning stop, so I said, 'No; you take off yours.'

The wrinkles about his eyes deepened as he stared at me, but then he said obligingly, 'Okay.' So we lightened his load by a few pounds between us.

That day I found I was glad to be wearing the Tuareg veil and the rest of the fancy dress. I could see that Paul, apart from anything else, was beginning to suffer from exposure whereas I was protected.

The rest of the day until sunset passed in a blur of exhaustion. Up one side, down the other, and still another one to come. Against the grain of the land, Byrne had said. It was a good descriptive phrase and I was now really beginning to find how good it was.

I fell into a blind, mindless rhythm and a chant was created in my mind – what the Germans call an 'earworm' – something that goes round and round in your head and you can't get rid of it. One bloody foot before the next bloody foot.

One bloody dune after the next bloody dune. One bloody foot before the next bloody foot. One bloody dune after the next bloody dune. One bloody… It went on and on and on…

Maybe it helped me.

And so it went on for hour after hour until I staggered into Byrne who had stopped. So did my bloody foot. 'We made it just in time.' He looked at the sun. 'Three-quarters of an hour to nightfall.'

'We're there?' I said thickly, and looked down the side of the dune. The valley bottom didn't look much different than any of the others we'd crossed.

'Yeah. Mokhtar will be coming along there.'

I looked around. 'Where's Billson?'

'Maybe a quarter-mile back. Konti's looking after him. Let's go down.'

When we got to the bottom I looked up and saw Paul and Konti silhouetted against the sky at the top of the dune. 'You mean we can rest now?'

'No,' said Byrne relentlessly. He started to walk up the valley so I followed. I was tired but at least this was reasonably level ground and I didn't have to go up and down. The dunes began to close in on either side and then the valley widened. Byrne stopped. This is the place. How wide would you say this valley is?'

'Quarter of a mile.'

'More. Six hundred yards. I want three trenches dug going up and down the valley. Each maybe ten yards long but I'd like more.'

That sounded like work and I wasn't in the mood for it 'How deep?'

'Not much; just so that your feet can recognize it in the dark. We're all going to stand sentry tonight.'

The idea was simple and good. The trenches divided the width of the valley into four equal parts and the four of us would patrol back and forth, each on our 150-yard stretch. When our feet encountered a trench we'd know it was time to turn around smartly and go back, just like a sentry in front of Buck House. If the caravan was coming through, then statistically it was highly likely that one of us was going to run into a camel. And the walking would keep us awake.

I began to dig where Byrne indicated, heaping the soft sand aside with my hands because I had nothing else to dig with. But first I unloaded the jerrican and had some water.

Billson and Konti came down and were put to work, and by nightfall we had done all we could do, not to Byrne's satisfaction but that couldn't be helped.