Carnifex

Hoti-Chobolo Highway, Kashmir, 12/8/469

The road which had been smooth from Hoti turned into a kidney-pounding washboard five minutes after turning off toward the enemy base. Speed dropped, out of sheer necessity to maintain health, to under ten miles an hour.

The convoy traveled with lights on. Anything else would have been suspicious. Even so, a suspicious group of tribesmen did stop the lead vehicle carrying Jimenez and Masood.

"What you here for?" a rifle bearing brigand demanded, once Masood had stopped and dismounted.

Bold bastard isn't he? Masood observed to himself. Bet there are half a dozen machine guns covering us right now or he wouldn't be nearly so bold.

"We come to join the great Prince Mustafa," Subadar Masood answered which was, after a fashion, true enough.

The suspicious tribesman ignored the answer, or seemed to. Instead, he went to the vehicle and looked over the passengers. He reached in and pulled away the scarf Jimenez had pulled across his face. Jimenez white eyes shone against his coal-black skin even in the darkness.

"What this one?"

"He's from among the faithful of Uhuru, come all this way to fight for Allah."

The tribesman asked a question of Jimenez, who stared pleadingly at Masood.

"He doesn't speak our language," the Subadar said. "Do you, perchance, know any of the Arabic dialects of Southern Uhuru?"

Scowling, the tribesman answered, "Not even know where this Uhuru place is. How speak language?" he asked, rhetorically.

Masood shrugged.

"Mustafa great man," the tribesman announced. "Give my people many gifts. You give gifts?"

"As the Prophet, peace be upon him, said, 'Give gifts to each other and love each other and hatred will disappear.' We would be happy to share our blessings with our brothers," Masood answered.

"Prophet, PBUH, he say that?"

"Indeed he did. We are brothers in our faith, are we not?" the Subadar asked.

"Not know nothing about no brothers. You give gifts?"

"Would money do?"

"Money do fine," the tribesman answered. "You give . . . one hundred rupees per man."

Two drachma, near enough, per man? About a thousand in all? Sounds very reasonable to me.

Masood reached into a pocket. "Can you accept FSD?"

"FSD good."