Area Zero (eBook)

Sand, Blood and Survival - A French Foreign Legion Series in the Sahara, Book 7

Sandbergh Beyers, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
118 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
978-0-00-082156-0 (ISBN)

Infos

They were left to die in the desert.

But the hydrogen bomb was the least of their worries.

In the blistering heat of the Algerian Sahara, disgraced Foreign Legion Lieutenant Andre D'Aran is a prisoner of his past, serving out his time in a forgotten fort. His personal hell is about to become a fiery battleground when a mysterious party of 'archaeologists' arrives, offering a handshake before revealing the pistols in their hands.

These are no scientists. They are cold-blooded agents sent to hijack the fort as an observation post for a top-secret hydrogen bomb test. Their secondary mission is even more monstrous. To chain D'Aran and his men to the walls as human guinea pigs, studying their agonizing deaths to steal the West's most powerful secrets. Outgunned and trapped, D'Aran must orchestrate a desperate rebellion, because failure means not only a gruesome death for his men, but the annihilation of hundreds of innocent civilians in the blast zone.

A high-stakes military thriller that blends classic action-adventure with nerve-shredding suspense. Perfect for fans of Alistair MacLean and Jack Higgins, this is a desperate battle for survival where every second counts and betrayal lurks around every sand dune.

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

Textauszug

Chapter 3

OBSERVATION POST

D’Aran opens his mouth to speak. His vocal cords, however, feel as if they are paralysed, and his head is a whirling chaos. He stares blankly at the barrel of the revolver aimed at the centre of his stomach. He continues to stare at that revolver as Gallast drags a chair closer and sits down before him. Gallast says, quite at ease. “Is this your administrative office?”

Still, D’Aran does not answer.

Gallast smiles. “Apparently, it is,” says Gallast. “It seems you also live right here. It is rather small, but we knew that. That is why we came here.”

Suddenly, D’Aran regains his composure. He springs upright. “What the devil are you babbling about, man? Put that revolver away this instant.”

Gallast releases the safety catch and cocks the hammer. Both movements are perfectly clear.

“Sit, Lieutenant. I would rather not shoot you, but I will not hesitate for a second if you do not do as I say.”

For probably five seconds, D’Aran remains standing thus, his prematurely aged face tense, his eyes staring. Then he sits down hard on the chair, like a man under hypnotic compulsion. He knows that this Gallast is not merely bluffing.

“I do not know what exactly is going on here, but I warn you that threatening me with a firearm is both a military and a civilian crime. You will be arrested and handed over to the commandant at Tala Bakoe.”

Gallast nods, his left hand rubbing the thick stubble on his swarthy face.

“That is an academic warning, Lieutenant.”

“Good heavens! It is nothing of the sort. That is precisely what is going to happen. For your sake, I just hope you are not in your right mind. If you are not responsible for your actions, you might get off lightly.”

“You are being remarkably insulting, Lieutenant, and I do not like to be insulted. I am trying to gently bring it to your understanding that you are no longer in command of this little fort and that your paltry garrison has been neutralised.”

He breaks off and looks at his expensive watch. “If you listen carefully now, you will hear something rather dramatic within the next minute.”

D’Aran listens, his mind captivated by the intense meaning in the man’s words. The minutes pass slowly and painfully, like the footsteps of a man approaching the gallows.

Then he hears them. Two almost simultaneous concussions. Two strong and terrible explosions that reverberate unpleasantly and menacingly against the fort’s walls. He recognises those explosions at once.

It is the report of revolvers.

From the eastern parapet, he hears a man scream.

Privates Toto and Vakasky are on duty on the eastern parapet. It is an unfortunate combination, for the two men’s mistrust is entirely mutual. Neither has any regard for the other. The reason is a rather buxom woman from the native quarter of Tala Bakoe, and her name is Anna. Toto, spurred by the fiery passions of his homeland, Spain, loves Anna dearly. He considers her his personal possession. It is unfortunate that Vakasky, the Russian, regards Anna in the same light. Therefore, both strongly object to sharing Anna’s affections. And both are determined to end this impossible situation before the garrison returns to Bakoe.

Thus it happens that a minor, yet significant, crisis arises every time these two pass each other on the parapet.

Vakasky, the larger of the two, contrives it so that he walks along the wall. As he passes Toto, he tries to shove the Spaniard off the parapet so that he might fall into the courtyard. He tries every time, but each time it is a near miss. He would have succeeded eventually, however… yes, he would have succeeded.

It would have happened had the two not suddenly heard the clear, emphatic command from just below them, beneath the parapet. “Legionnaires, drop your rifles.”

They peer over the edge, and in that moment, their animosity is forgotten. They see a member of the strange party that arrived just now, and he is aiming a heavy Luger revolver at them.

They stand there uncertainly, eyeing the weapon. Like children, they see, but they cannot believe.

The man with the revolver makes an urgent gesture and repeats the command, but this time with more insistence in his words. But the Spaniard and the Russian do not stir from where they stand.

It is Vakasky who finally acts. He is a brave man, this Russian, but at this moment, he is also a very foolish man.

He tries to take aim with his Lebel. He tries to rip the rifle from his shoulder to shoot.

He has barely begun when the Luger speaks, speaks twice.

The first bullet strikes Vakasky just above the navel. The rifle clatters onto the stones, and the Russian clutches his stomach. His face has suddenly turned purple, and his lips tremble with pain and rage. He screams once, loudly, but that scream is muffled as more blood from his lung floods his throat. Then he slowly slumps forward and tumbles over the edge. He falls with a soft thud onto the hard ground of the courtyard, his legs stirring faintly.

In a sense, Toto is luckier. The bullet that hits him, high in the head, kills him instantly. Even as he somersaults before falling from the parapet, he is already dead.

At the time of this incident, six other men are on duty, two on each of the three other parapets. They too are threatened by the strangers with the Lugers. However, they have seen what happened to Toto and Vakasky. They realise at once that the same fate will befall them if they try to resist.

Therefore, they do as they are commanded. They drop their rifles. They climb down into the courtyard like people walking in their sleep. And while they are guarded, they form a small, bewildered group.

Twenty-two men are inside the sleeping quarters, and they hear the Luger shots. They do not, however, pay much attention to them. They are occupied with more personal matters. Some of them had helped the strangers pitch their tents and had then returned to the dormitory to lie and sweat during what remained of the rest period. They lie there half-naked in the steaming, baking heat. They lie feeling the sweat being pressed from their bodies and seeping into the hard coir mattresses. They swat limply and powerlessly at the wretched biting flies droning around them. They are delirious in light slumber. Some snore, and others mutter in their half-sleep. Some try to stay awake, trying to convince themselves that somewhere on this old earth there is a place where it is at least cool.

And then… then seven men, pistols in hand, enter the dormitory. One remains standing by the door, and the others spread out in the aisle between the two rows of beds. One looks this way and the next in the opposite direction, so that they constantly have every single bed under observation. The soldiers who are not yet asleep jerk themselves upright. They stare with slack-jawed expressions at the revolvers aimed at them.

The man at the door says. “No harm will come to you if you do as I say. But…”

Then the two shots crack from the parapets, followed almost immediately by that terrible scream.

The man at the door continues. “But you will be shot if you do not obey. Do not worry about what we are doing or why. You will find out soon enough. In the meantime, you must simply obey orders. The first order you must obey is to stand beside your beds, each man beside his bed, with your hands above your heads.”

There is no reaction, save for the creaking of beds as men who had dozed off now also get up.

“Do as I say… stand up!”

The last two words are almost shouted. The men stare dazedly at the fellow by the door. He is large and looks much like the others, and they see that he is very much at home with that Luger.

More than half the soldiers obey. They smile sheepishly, as if imagining this to be some ridiculous joke. The others remain lying where they are, some because they do not understand what is happening, and some out of sheer vexation.

Take, for example, that fellow in one of the middle beds. The annoyance can be seen in his clear blue eyes. It can be seen in the compression of his firm lips. It can be seen in the sudden tension in the muscles of his naked shoulders. There is power in that body, but also a certain suppleness, an agility of muscle and mind.

This blond soldier is a South African. His name is Basie Beyers, and he left his native land after beating a man to death in the boxing ring when that man deliberately kidney-punched him during a title fight on the Witwatersrand.

Beyers says softly. “It would help a great deal if you told us what exactly is going on here.”

The man at the door listens to this French, spoken with a slight accent, and then aims specifically at Beyers. “I will count to three, and if you are not on your feet by then, I am going to kill you,” says the stranger, quite meaning it.

There is a short pause.

“One…”

Beyers glances quickly to his right. His Lebel stands there in the rifle rack. He could reach it very easily, but it would be futile. By the time he has it in his hands, he would already be a dead man with a Luger bullet through his head. Besides, the rifle is empty, for regulations here require cartridges to be removed when the men come off duty. The same applies to the other men. Although they far outnumber these few strangers, they are completely powerless beneath the menacing muzzles of these few Luger revolvers.

“Two…”

Beyers feels the other Legionnaires staring at him. They are waiting for his lead. They will do as he does.

Basie Beyers slowly climbs out of his...

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: 0-00-082156-X / 000082156X
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-082156-0 / 9780000821560