Three Kings

Lieutenant Cory, of B Troop 1/6th AustralianCav, thought he saw something through the gloomy silted sky that evening, a strange glow in the sky, but he and his men had to hunker down for the storm as well. They were out on point, up beyond a gully they had dubbed “Davidson’s Pass” after the first scout section that went through. Their position was right near the Libyan border atAynMelfa, which they had taken from a small Italian patrol the previous day. Giarabub was 35 kilometers due west of his post, and much farther to the east, on a high rocky outcrop, there was a lonesome, haunted plateau that would soon be visited by spirits and demons from another world.

The KA-40 with Fedorov’s rescue team was very close, well south over the dread Qattara Depression, at the trailing edge of that storm as it swept south. The depression was the lowest place in Egypt, descending from impassible craggy escarpments to a depth of 80 meters below sea level. There were endless miles of soft wet ‘sebkha,’ a silty soil that made the area impassible to all vehicles and even camels if they were loaded with any cargo. All around it lay a maze of parched dry lake beds fed by gnarled, dry wadis. Other places were dotted with shallow sand and salt marshes, fringed by parched stony ground that had been baked in the hot sun and scoured by the harsh desert winds for ages. It was no place for any man to be, if he wanted to live very long, and O’Connor’s Blenheim was fortunate to have avoided it on his run south.

Fedorov was stooped over a good map of the region, checking signal coordinates from O’Connor’s last known position just before the plane went down. He squinted out through the forward view panes on the helo, seeing the dull brown silt in the air, and knowing that if they found themselves in the thick of it, the engine filters could clog up and they would be in the same position as O’Connor. At the moment, they were in a void between two great arms of brown blowing sand and silt, and Fedorov thought they had better look for a safe place to land. Even technology from his future time would have to bow before the wrath of Mother Nature, and so he began to look over the map for a suitable spot where they could ride out the last of the storm.

“This feature looks interesting,” he said, fingering a high plateau surrounded by sheer escarpments. “Come to 170 southeast, and we can set down on that plateau. The map indicates firm ground, some gravel and scattered sand over hard stone. It should take the weight of the helo easily enough.” He showed Popski the map, indicating the spot he had in mind in case he had any advice.

“Put down here,” said Popski. “BirBasure. There’s a water cairn there that feeds from an underground artesian spring. It’s not much, but better than nothing. There’s a road that passes close by that place, and runs here, all the way down toSiwa. These other roads shown on that map of yours don’t even exist, as far as I know, and that’s a good deal when it comes to this desert. But what’s this bit here?” He pointed to a shaded zone on the map sitting square atop the escarpment fringed plateau, a large triangle spanning some 50 kilometers.

“Old map,” said Fedorov, quickly folding it and putting it away. In fact it was a very new map, printed in 2021, and the features Popski had asked him about were new developments northwest ofSiwa, and the roads that serviced them. Fedorov reminded himself to keep that map under wraps in the future. Popski was not aware of their true origins and identity. He had only been told that they were ‘allies,’ a catchall category that would hang on the citizens and soldiers of many nations before this war was over.

“The desert shifts and changes every day,” said Popski. “At least the bugger gotBirBasure right when he drew that map. There’s three hills north of the place. If you get down low it should be easy to spot. That will put us about 70 kilometers northwest ofSiwa. I can radio the lads there and have them come out with a few jeeps.”

“Well the storm can’t last forever,” said Fedorov. “We’ll be conducting the search with the helicopter.”

“No, it won’t last forever,” said Popski, “but it may damn well come to feel that way once it sweeps in. I’ve seen these storms bury field phone wire six feet deep in an hour. That’s stony ground where we’re landing, well up on the plateau, so we’re safe from sand drifts. But if it’s no bother to you, I’d feel better with some vehicles at hand. Just in case.” He gave Fedorov a wink and a nod, and the young Captain could see no reason why he shouldn’t make the call.