Operation: Sahara

-Banks-

That was the full extent of the pages from the journal; it had him hooked right enough, and he was eager to know the rest of the tale, but he could only hope to learn the Victorian squad’s fate at some later date. Besides, he shouldn’t even have been reading it in the first place. Not paying attention while on watch was something he’d have chewed any of the others out about; now wasn’t the time for sloppy soldiering.

He put the journal pages with the notebooks and camera and refilled the packs save for the laptop that he left for the privates to unlock. Then he took his smokes and went to stand at the mouth of the box canyon, where he should have been all along.

Even then his mind wouldn’t let it be, his thoughts returning back to that other Scottish squad out looking for trouble, and finding it. He wondered about one of the names, Andy Hynd. Sure, it wasn’t an uncommon surname in the West of Scotland, but the juxtaposition between the one in service back then and his recently retired friend now was too much to ignore and it was something he’d be chasing up when they got home. If nothing else it would be a tale to tell his old pal over a beer or three.

He forced his concentration to more pressing matters but even those harked back to the journal; he intended to head for the very same oasis that had been the Victorian squad’s regimental headquarters. Would they find evidence of that long ago encampment? Or, as he hoped, would he find evidence, or even the team themselves, of the more recent research expedition?

The camel was a puzzle though. It had obviously escaped from that expedition. But where had the blood come from? And why had nobody tracked it down and retrieved it, given how docile it was around people?

The questions were still whirling in his head when Wiggo came to relieve him several hours later.

“There’s coffee in the pot, Cap,” he said. “Davies is up next after me.”

Before leaving, Banks had a smoke with the sergeant and told him about the journal, and the names he’d read there.”

“Hynd? A coincidence, do you think?”

“Maybe aye, maybe no,” Banks replied. “We both ken that the service runs in Frank’s family a long way back. Maybe he had a great-great grandad who served in these parts. If we get lucky, we might find out more for ourselves further down the line here. In the meantime, look after this camel here; it might have more stories to tell us.”

“I’ll try not to scare her off,” Wiggins said with a smile.

“That’ll be another first, then,” Banks replied, and headed for his bedroll.

When he woke the sky was darkening from the east. It was still blisteringly hot in the box-canyon but they’d all rested, they hadn’t been attacked…and the camel hadn’t run off. Banks counted that as a small victory. He joined the others in a quick breakfast.

Wilkins and Davies had between them hacked into the laptop but hadn’t found anything of note more than they knew already. The same photos he’d seen on the camera had been loaded up onto the hard drive and there were several emails home but they all stopped at the oasis that was their next destination.

“I guess we’ll have to do it the hard way,” Banks said then had the squad make ready to move out.

When they headed west out of the box canyon into the main ravine the camel showed its first signs of recalcitrance; it obviously disproved of going back the way it had come and pulled hard against Davies’ hand on the halter.

“Something’s got her spooked, Cap,” the private said, but Banks could see that clearly enough for himself.

What are we getting ourselves into this time?

Over the next couple of hours Banks heard Davies mutter curses at the camel, imprecations to get it moving. At least it was still with them, for now, but it had begun to bray in annoyance, threatening to give away their position to anyone who might be looking out for them. Finally Banks had heard enough. He went back to the beast, retrieved the camera and notebook which he put in his own pack, then gave it a whack on the rump.

“Away you go then,” he said. “We’ll no’ keep a lassie where she’s no’ comfortable.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wiggo said.

The camel brayed, almost a laugh, in reply then was off and away, heading east in long loping strides. She was soon lost in the gloom. The canyon echoed briefly with the sound of her movement then fell quiet.

They had a smoke and water break at midnight.

“By my reckoning we’re halfway to where this opens out to desert again,” Banks said. “Then it’s a couple of hours slog across sand to the oasis.”

“And after that?” Wiggo asked.

“Two days west into the hills. Maybe three.”

“And the same slog on the way back, maybe with sick or wounded?” Davies added.

“Aye,” Banks said. “If you were thinking this is a cushy number, think again. If we push on, we could be at yon oasis by daybreak. I promise you a longer rest there.”

Banks’ estimate proved about right. Four hours more in the ravine brought them to the point where it opened out again onto a sea of dunes. There was a darker shadow on the western horizon which he guessed must be the oasis, but that wouldn’t be certain until daylight, and he hoped to be there by then.

“Come on, lads,” he said. “Last one at the bar gets the round in.”