Bloody Ruby (eBook)

Sand, Blood and Survival - A French Foreign Legion Series in the Sahara, Book 6

Sandbergh Beyers, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
126 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
978-0-00-082108-9 (ISBN)

Infos

Some legends should stay buried.

This one could ignite a continent in flames.

When two American antiquarians vanish near the fabled ruins of Zaruse in the Sahara desert, Captain D'Avalan is sent to find them. With a small company of his toughest French Foreign Legionnaires, he ventures deep into the most dangerous territory in Africa, a land ruled by the bloodthirsty Dalak tribe.

But this is no ordinary rescue. D'Avalan discovers the scientists are not victims, but fanatics armed with a terrifying discovery, named the Bloody Ruby of Talaki. The legendary stone has granted them god-like power over the Dalaks, and with it, they plan to unite the desert tribes in a holy war that will drown North Africa in blood.

Outnumbered a hundred to one and trapped in the heart of an ancient city, the Legionnaires face a suicidal choice. To have any hope of survival, they must capture the ruby and shatter the legend or die trying. This relentless military adventure thriller is a must-read for fans of Wilbur Smith and Alistair MacLean.

Start your unforgettable Sahara adventure now with the sixth ebook in the series!

Textauszug

Chapter 2

DALAK WORLD

Once, the town of Haloesa almost became famous due to an attempt by the Arabs to overthrow the Foreign Legion. That, however, was long ago, and the few hundred Arabs who now live there are perfectly content. As is the case with all peaceful Arabs, they desire only to be left alone. They are satisfied with their shacks, their goat meat, the flies, and the persistent stench of the place.

Therefore, they looked askance when the Legion patrol marched in one morning.

There was, however, no hostility either. The inhabitants of Haloesa owed much to the protection of the Legion, and they had not yet forgotten it. Therefore, they watched rather indifferently as the small column of men came to a halt in their marketplace. Some of them even yawned from boredom as their chieftain emerged from his mud-brick house to speak with Captain D’Avalan.

After they had greeted each other, D’Avalan looked with revulsion at this chieftain. He did not smell particularly good, and swarms of flies clustered around his eyes without him even bothering about them. He was typical.

D’Avalan employed his knowledge of Arabic. He informed the chieftain that they were looking for two white men. Had they perhaps passed this way?

There is nothing that flatters an Arab so much as when he is asked for information. This chieftain of Haloesa was no exception. He raised a lean hand in the air with a dramatic gesture, and before he even spoke, D’Avalan knew that he had acted correctly by first coming to this stinking place.

“Yes, many days ago, two such men with five camels and servants stopped here to buy water from us.”

“Which direction did they take from here?”

The chieftain fluttered his lean hand in a south-easterly direction, but he said nothing.

D’Avalan said. “We are also going to buy water from you, as well as meat.”

There was immediate interest among those standing around who had heard this. A piebald goat was untied and dragged here to D’Avalan so that he could inspect it before it was slaughtered.

It took an hour before this simple transaction with the goat was concluded, and the men welcomed this opportunity to rest. The three-day journey from Dana Talani had been a torment, a speed march with ten minutes’ rest every three hours.

The men lay in the shade of the shacks and chattered amongst themselves. Some even discussed the possible reason for this excursion through the desert. They were more than interested because the American, Connor, had told them about his visit to the major before they departed.

Sergeant Collat’s shrill command for them to fall in again came far too soon for them. They felt moody and dejected as the Lebel rifles were once more slung over their shoulders and they marched away from Haloesa.

Perhaps it was just as well that none of them heard the words of the elderly Arab woman. She sat beside her shack in the shade. Her eyes were set deep in her weathered old face, which had the appearance of old leather. It was almost as if she stared sorrowfully after the patrol as they departed. She said hoarsely to herself. “The shadow of death lies over those soldiers. I, who am so close to death, can see it…”

A hundred miles is not a particularly great distance, at least not if one thinks in terms of modern means of transport. A modern army division in motor vehicles could cover it within a few hours. In the Foreign Legion, however, it is different. In this part of the desert where the Legion now operated, there were no roads at all. When men of the Legion moved, they had to make use of their own two feet. It is not so easy. This sand practically “sucks” at your legs, and within a few miles, it feels as if your calf muscles are tearing. The sand gets into your boots, and because socks are not a luxury item distributed in the Legion, your feet are soon a mass of blisters. Then there is the sun, the immense sun, a consuming copper ball that torments you from its appearance until it disappears again in the west.

Under such conditions, a hundred miles is more than a day’s journey. It is simply far.

The man who perhaps endures the least on these long marches is Kasper Janse, the South African giant. Large men usually do not have much stamina, but Kasper did.

Kasper, in his day, was a heavyweight boxer on the Rand, and the very long fights in which he participated there not only gave him stamina but also made his muscles immensely strong. Exercise is in his blood, and he still manages to regularly limber up a bit when B-Company is not wandering about in the desert.

At this moment, when all the other men are walking bent over, Kasper is still as straight as a ramrod. While the others curse the weight of their backpacks, Kasper walks at his leisure.

He walks here beside Jurg Kruger. Jurg is not made of sugar either. Yet, he is so exhausted that it feels as if he could just fall down here and sleep until who knows when. Kasper looks at him with a feeling of compassion, and Jurg feels it and manages a somewhat sour smile towards the big man.

“Don’t worry, old ram,” says Jurg. “I reckon I’ll make it to the finish line. It can’t be too long now before we rest again.”

“It can’t be long now, another few minutes, and you’ll be able to rest those old bones a bit. It seems to me we’re not far from these ruins of Zaruse anymore. Perhaps we’ll reach them before sunset. What an expedition! Here one has to walk oneself to death because two confounded Americans got it into their heads to come digging around among old ruins. I wish the ghosts would eat their backsides to pieces,” says Kasper.

Jurg also reckoned that they could not be too far from the ruins. This was already the fourth day since they had left Haloesa, and they had marched as they had seldom marched through the desert.

This had not been a pleasant march. Not only was there the terrible heat, but there was also the loneliness, with the accompanying feeling that you were constantly being watched by eyes you could not see. The men had talked amongst themselves about this feeling because they all had that strange impression. None of them liked penetrating so far into the Dalak world. Most of them had already had some experience or other with this bloodthirsty bunch. With every step, they advanced further from possible help, from those who could support them if trouble with these Dalaks were to arise.

Yes, these Dalaks…

They bore the nickname the “Riders of Hell.” They are brave, ingenious, and utterly without mercy. For generations, they have waged a bloody and continuous struggle against the French Tricolour here in the Sahara. They have achieved successes, but the most recent crushing defeat at the hands of the Legion had caused them to retreat to this remote and desolate area.

Those who know them, however, know that the Dalaks will not remain in their shell for long. Before long, horse hooves will thunder again across this sandy wilderness. Only total annihilation will completely end the danger of the Dalak people, and that is a gruesome task that France is surely not prepared to undertake.

And now this patrol of sixty men moves almost into the heart of their territory.

This situation is also foremost in D’Avalan’s mind as he plods along at the head of the column. “Good heavens!” said the captain, without uttering the words. “This is more than dangerous. It is fantastical.”

There in Dana Talani, it had not seemed such a particularly formidable undertaking. There, he had regarded it more as an interesting excursion, a welcome break from the routine in the garrison town. There, sixty men had seemed sufficient to him. Therefore, he had not asked for more, although he was sure that Pylo, under a little pressure, would have spared more. Yes, here in the dangerous desert, the picture now looked entirely different from how it had looked there in the garrison town!

It is true that in the past four days they had not seen a living soul, neither Dalaks nor anyone else, but D’Avalan did not let himself be fooled by that.

It is said that these Dalaks are the eyes of the desert, that they can see without being seen, and that they strike like lightning, as the Legion has already experienced to its bitter regret.

“They know full well that we are here,” D’Avalan thought. “They have been watching us constantly. I can feel that it is so.”

It is the feeling they all experience.

D’Avalan looked at his wristwatch and then beckoned to Collat. Collat broke rank and called out. “Halt!”

Collat’s voice was no longer as piercing as usual, but the command was immediately obeyed. It was the command for which they had all been longingly waiting. There was no further command, and the men loosened their equipment, threw it down on the sand, and then thankfully sank down themselves.

D’Avalan did not lie down. He pulled his map from the round cylinder in which he carried it and unfolded it. With the help of a pencil, he made a calculation, and Collat stared at him, his head slightly tilted like that of a curious bird.

“We should reach the ruins of Zaruse before it gets dark,” D’Avalan said to Collat. “It is still about six miles from here, about three hours’ walk.”

“That is very satisfactory, mon Capitaine, but I wonder if we will encounter these Dalaks even when we have reached the ruins. They are as scarce as quails.”

D’Avalan nodded wearily. “Yes, I myself wonder what has become of the scoundrels. I wonder what has become of these two Americans. I wonder if they ever reached Zaruse. If we find the place deserted, there is nothing...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 9.9.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Fantasy
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-082108-X / 000082108X
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-082108-9 / 9780000821089