Dancing The Code by Paul Leonard

Author:Paul Leonard [Leonard, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Science Fiction, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character)
ISBN: 9780426204411
Publisher: London Bridge
Published: 1995-06-14T07:00:00+00:00

Book Three

Dance of Death

Eighteen

FTahir Al-Naemi didn't wake up straight away when Yamin shook his shoulder. For a moment he actually tried to turn over on his bedroll and ignore the intrusion.

Then, when he woke up properly, he was furious with himself.

Even as he pulled on his boots, listened to Yamin's report of approaching jeeps, asked how many, heard the shouts outside, checked the clip of his Kalashnikov for ammunition — even then he was thinking, this is the second time in twenty-four hours that I've been caught napping.

Am I getting too old? he wondered. Is thirty-six past the age for fighting?

Outside, the night was not entirely dark: a half-moon gave enough light to give the desert shape and shadow, if no colour. I had been sleeping too long anyway, thought Tahir confusedly. He could see the vehicles approaching: plumes of dust to the east, half obscuring the yellow light of headlamps.

His father was standing outside the tent, looking through binoculars at the road.

'Well?' asked Tahir.

'Jeeps, Land Rovers,' said the old man. 'Eight of them.' He paused.

'There are women and a child I think. It's hard to tell.'

Tahir relaxed a little, went back into the tent and found his own binoculars. But when he came out again someone was shouting,

'GAF! It's the GAF!'

There was a clatter of metal as guns were readied. Tahir ignored it, sighted his binoculars. Sure enough, there was the green-and-red flag of the Libyan-backed people, fluttering on the radio aerial of the lead jeep.

His father called the GAF traitors; but as far as Tahir could understand it their only treachery was to take foreign money, and to have started the fight earlier than his own people.

The convoy was slowing down now, spreading itself out on the dusty apron of rock below the encampment. Tahir could see the figures in the lead jeep well enough to pick out their faces in the reflected light of the headlamps. One of them looked like — probably was —

Al Tayid.

Tahir drew in a breath, strode forward across the sand. He took out his pistol, fired a shot into the air; several of his men did the same, and then they were all up, crowding forward, shooting skywards. A figure in one of the jeeps reached up and fired a shot, but was waved down by Al Tayid.

Tahir waved his own men down. 'They have women with them,' he shouted. 'And children. We should be careful.'

The shots stopped.

'I am not sure about this,' said his father's voice into the silence.

'Why should he bring any of his civilian people?'

Al Tayid got out of his jeep and ran across to Tahir and his father.

He embraced the older man first, kissing him on both cheeks; then did the same to Tahir.

'My brothers in the desert!' he said. 'I am so glad to see you!'

'Why have you brought your women?' said the Sakir briskly. 'We cannot accommodate them.'

Al Tayid glanced at him sharply. 'You may have to,' he said. 'These are all of my people. All the Free Giltaz that remain, apart from those who are with you, and those abroad.

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