Fifty-Fifty O'Brien by L. Ron Hubbard

Author:L. Ron Hubbard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Galaxy Press, L.L.C.
Published: 2014-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

AT midnight, Grant had made his decision. They would have to get out of there by morning, if they got out at all. They lacked the water to stay. If the aviation drome would send a squadron over at dawn, the caravan could be wiped out and the Tuaregs would run for it.

Grant located Duval. “I am going down for the lieutenant’s flares. If I don’t come back—”

“Sir,” said Duval, “we can’t allow you to go down. You would be deserting your command.”

Grant’s eyes were dangerous. “You can’t what?”

“It’s too much risk, sir.”

“To hell with that,” snapped Grant, heading for the murette. Duval’s hand was on his sleeve, detaining him.

Schwartz and another corporal were there, blocking his way. “You can’t do this, sir,” said Schwartz. “You’re the one who can get us out of this. Call for volunteers.”

Grant was about to blast them with searing words when he knew that they were right. He didn’t dare go away and leave this post.

“Attention,” roared Grant. “I want volunteers to go after the lieutenant’s flares.”

Silence fell along the murette. For a moment it appeared that none of the men wanted the job, and then five came slowly toward Grant.

He raked them with his eyes. “All five of you can’t go.” He fumbled in Muller’s pockets and found a report book and a pencil. Tearing off five strips of paper, he numbered them. Dumping them into his kepi he passed it around.

Five hands dipped into the cap; five faces were bent over the slips. A small, compact Legionnaire with a very old face stepped out a pace.

“I’m one, sir. When do I go?”

Grant felt the words choke in his throat. “Right now. I want the pack which contains the panels and flares. Without it we can’t get out of here alive.”

The small Legionnaire saluted and did a smart right-face. He climbed over the top of the murette and dropped silently out of sight into the darkness.

Grant paced restlessly back and forth. He listened intently. The entire platoon was listening with him. Would the man get through? Their entire front was blanketed by the Tuaregs. The lieutenant’s body lay in the midst of the raiders. It was an impossible task.

Abruptly, shots flashed out in front. A Tuareg yelled loudly. The gun spoke again. The fire doubled instantly.

After that everything was very still.

Grant muttered, “He didn’t make it.”

A thick-faced man was conjured up before Grant. “My slip said ‘two,’ sir.”

Without waiting for orders, the Legionnaire dropped over the side of the wall and was gone. Grant’s jaw muscles worked nervously. He felt as though he himself were out there, gliding over loose stones, trying to keep away from the Tuaregs and yet reach that precious pack.

Minutes passed, dragging. Grant caught himself holding his breath seconds at a time.

The roar of guns made Grant jump. His fingernails were digging into his palms. Sweat stood out on his forehead. This time there was no reply.

Silence dropped again over the mountains. Grant felt something snap inside him. He stepped ahead, but Duval caught his arm.

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