Flyaway

Then came the patrolling back and forth across the width of the valley, each in our own sector. I was weary and the slow trudge in the thick sand didn't help. Every so often my feet encountered the edge of the trench and I turned to go back. Say three hundred yards for the round trip, about six to the mile. I wondered how many miles I was going to walk that night. Still, it was better than the bloody dunes.

On a couple of occasions at a trench I met Byrne and we exchanged a word before we turned and went our opposite ways. If we could have synchronized our speeds we could have met every time, but there was no way of doing that in the darkness.

The night wore on and my pace became slower. I was desperately tired and it was only because I had to walk that I kept awake, although sometimes I wonder if at times I wasn't walking in my sleep. But the walking and a few hunger pangs kept me going.

I encountered Byrne again, and he said, 'Have you seen Konti?'

'We met a couple of patrols ago. He's awake, if that's what's worrying you.'

'It's not I should be finding Billson, and I'm not.'

I sighed. 'He's had a harder day than most of us. He's clapped out.'

'It leaves a hole in the line. I'll feel better when the moon comes up.'

We didn't have to wait that long. There was a yell from Konti and a startled cry of 'Hoi! Hoi! Hoi!' as someone strove to quieten a plunging camel. Then a couple of Tuareg came up from behind us, from up the valley. Half of that caravan had got past us without anyone knowing until Konti had bumped into someone.

I sat down, exactly where I was. 'Luke,' I said. 'I'm going to sleep.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

And so I went into Bilma by camel. Paul did, too, but Byrne walked after the first day. Konti walked all the time. These men were seemingly indestructible. Mokhtar had camped where he found us, but we continued the next day and, as Byrne had said, well into the darkness before we camped again.

Then Byrne began to walk, as did all the Tuareg, and I noted his feet were bare. He walked lithely by the side of the camel I rode. I said, 'Is it normal to walk?'

'Yeah.'

'All the way from Agadez to Bilma?'

'And back.' He looked up. 'We're all humble camel drivers – like the Prophet.'

I thought about it, thinking how quickly we had traversed that fastness in the Toyota. 'I would have thought it would be more efficient to use trucks.'

'Oh, sure.' He pointed ahead. 'Bilma produces 4000 tons of salt a year. The whole export job could be done with twenty 20-tonners. If this was Algeria they'd use trucks. The bastards in the Maghreb are nuts on efficiency when it's profitable.'

'Then why not here?'

'Because the Niger government is sensible. A camel can carry a seventh of a ton so, to shift a year's salt you need 28,000 camels. Like I said, a camel is a fragile animal – for every day's work it must have a day's rest. So – three months on the salt trail means another three months' resting-up time and feeding. That's six months, which takes care of the winter season. No one comes across here in summer. So you do have to have 28,000 camels because each makes but one journey. At $180 each that's a capital investment of better than five million dollars. Add harness, wrappings, drivers' pay and all that and you can make it six million.'

'God!' I said. 'It would certainly pay to use trucks.'

'I haven't finished,' said Byrne. 'A camel can last four years in the business, so that means 7000 new animals needed every year. Somebody has to breed them; guys like me, but more usually like Hamiada. What with one thing and another there's two million dollars going to the breeders from the Bilma salt trade. And Bilma's not the only source of salt. In the Western Sahara there's Taoudenni which supplies Timbouctou and the whole Niger Bend a rea – that's much bigger than the Bilma trade.' He looked up at me. 'So it's illegal to carry salt on trucks. It would ruin the traditional economy and destroy the structure of the desert tribes if trucks were allowed.'

'I see,' I said thoughtfully. 'Humanitarianism versus efficiency.' It made sense, but I doubt if a hard-headed City businessman would have agreed.

'Look,' said Byrne. The Kaouar.'

Stretching across the horizon was a well of mountains, blue-hazed with distance. 'Bilma?'

'Bilma,' tie said with satisfaction.

Half a day later I could see welcome tints of green, the first sight of vegetation since leaving Fachi, and soon I could distinguish individual date palms. Byrne hastened ahead to talk to Mokhtar, then came back. 'We won't go into Bilma -not yet,' he said. 'Kissack might be there and so we have to go in carefully. We'll stop at the salt workings at Kalala.'