Curse of the Ruby (eBook)

A South African Hero's Struggle in the French Foreign Legion, Book 12

Meiring Fouche, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
129 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
978-0-00-077736-2 (ISBN)

Infos

In the heart of the Sahara, an ancient temple waits.

But it is not empty.

And it is hungry...

Sahara desert, 1940-1960. For French Foreign Legionnaire Teuns Stegmann and his hardened squad, it was a simple mission. Rescue a crashed Canadian millionaire and his daughter from the unforgiving dunes. Taking refuge in the shadow of the legendary Temple of Makesser seems like their first stroke of luck, but it might be their last.

A whispered legend of a cursed ruby turns into a waking nightmare when a soldier vanishes without a trace. Soon, they are stalked by a phantom enemy who knows their every move. A brilliant madman guarding a treasure worth dying, or killing, for. Trapped between a bloodthirsty tribe and the maze-like catacombs beneath the temple, their mission is no longer about rescue. It's about survival.

A blistering fusion of classic adventure and nail-biting thriller, this relentless page-turner is a must-read for fans of Alistair MacLean and Indiana Jones. Every shadow could hide a comrade... or a killer.

Step into this unforgettable twelve Sahara adventure now!

Textauszug

Chapter 2

AN INTRUDER

It took quite a while before Teuns and Jack Ritchie recovered. They listened with the utmost concentration, the night wind cool on their sweating hands.

“What... what could that have been?” Jack finally asked hoarsely. “Something almost fell on my head.”

“It very nearly fell on my head too,” Teuns related. “I think it’s a stone or something that fell from above.”

“But a stone doesn’t just fall by itself,” Jack opined.

“The wind could have blown it off, from the top of the wall...”

“You don’t believe that possibility yourself, Stegmann,” Jack Ritchie correctly summed up his comrade’s feelings. “That stone was pushed off somehow, or thrown off. I think someone consciously or unconsciously revealed their presence...”

“You sound like an old woman, Ritchie,” Teuns said, almost irritably.

Petacci had also approached and stood astonished beside the two. “What’s going on?” he asked softly through the wind. “Why are you standing here like two pillars of salt? Or do you think I’m not man enough to stand guard?”

Without a word, Teuns walked back to the wall, picked up his submachine gun, and returned. “Petacci,” the South African said, “I’m going to stand guard with you. A stone just nearly fell on mine and Ritchie’s heads. Maybe the wind blew it off, maybe it wasn’t the wind. I don’t know.”

“It’s terribly self-sacrificing of you to come watch with me,” Petacci said fearlessly and cool as a cucumber. “It would be interesting if we had company here in the Makesser Temple, then at least we wouldn’t be so alone, and the ghosts would have other people to pay attention to as well.”

“Go rest, Ritchie,” said Teuns. “When Petacci and I have finished standing guard, you and Podolski can take over.”

Ritchie turned away and carefully walked back to the wall, peering up through the darkness to see if he could spot anyone on the high temple wall, but it was utterly futile, as it was now pitch dark. All there was, was the mournful song of the wind, sometimes droning, sometimes whistling, and then again singing a high, wailing lament.

Teuns Stegmann stepped a few paces aside and stood there, glancing towards where Petacci stood, then carefully drew his dagger from the sheath beneath his cloak.

For Teuns Stegmann, like all other members of the Foreign Legion, knew very well that the Doelak Arab moves through the dark more softly and silently than a cat. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine and listened with wonder as Catroux, Podolski, and Fritz Mundt lay snoring against the wall, blissfully unaware of anything that might be brewing in this dark night. He stared intently through the darkness and saw Petacci a short distance away. Each time he glanced in the direction of the little Italian, and each time, he knew, the little Italian glanced in his direction.

For deep down, these two were equally convinced that they were not alone here. That they were not the only living beings spending the night at these ruins.

Teuns stood there reasoning who it could possibly be if someone was in these ruins. He didn’t believe it could be Doelaks because even if they had heard about the plane making an emergency landing, they couldn’t possibly have reached this remote area yet. It probably wasn’t a lost, lone Doelak either, nor likely another Arab, a caravan driver or the like, because Arabs are not very fond of simply spending the night in old ruins like these. They are far too superstitious for that. They would firmly imagine that these ruins teem with spirits.

Who else, then? Could the millionaire and his daughter have perhaps come here? Had they perhaps decided to take shelter here until they were rescued? Maybe they thought they would feel safer here.

However, the South African dismissed this possibility. The Canadian who piloted his own plane would probably not just leave it like that. Besides, he would stay there to maintain radio contact with Dini Salam.

Who then?

Teuns mechanically turned his head upwards, but the deep darkness had swallowed everything. Only the stars shone high and cold, and a broken sliver of moon raced through a streak of wispy clouds.

As he stood there, Teuns marvelled anew that he was still in the French Foreign Legion. He thought back over the years, thought back to the farm he could live on in the Hex River Valley, the beautiful vineyard farm that was his property. He could have been sitting safely there now if his pilot brother hadn’t crashed and disappeared here in the desert during the Second World War. He could have lived in the safe shelter of the Boland mountains if he hadn’t decided to come looking for his brother after it became known that an Arab tribe had carried him off. Now he had been in the Legion all these years, seeking revenge on those who had abducted his brother. He didn’t know if he was still alive. He couldn’t pursue the matter further here. Many times he had felt like leaving the Foreign Legion, but each time he had hoped anew that he would receive news about his brother. And each time he couldn’t bring himself to leave because he had grown so attached to these comrades of his. Standing here in the wind, it felt to him that he couldn’t leave the Foreign Legion until Fritz Mundt, Podolski, Jack Ritchie, Petacci, and the others left it.

But nothing further happened, and when the time came, Teuns and Petacci went and woke Jack Ritchie and Podolski to come stand guard.

Around three o’clock, Teuns and the others were woken again, and Sergeant Catroux was also on his feet. He gave the order for the large water flasks and rucksacks to be placed against the wall so they could move more lightly towards the aircraft.

Teuns wasn’t sure whether he should tell the sergeant about what had happened last night. In the first dim light of morning, he looked up at the high wall. Everything was quiet there. It was very possible that the strong night wind had dislodged a small stone. He didn’t want to unnecessarily stir up trouble. And yet, on the other hand, what if it wasn’t the wind that had pushed the pebble off?

However, Teuns didn’t have to stand and doubt for long whether he should speak, because it was Petacci who apparently was in a playful mood this morning. “Mon Sergent,” he said to Catroux, “have you heard about Stegmann and Ritchie’s tremendous experience last night?”

“Nobody told me anything about a strange experience,” said Catroux. “Did those two see a ghost, or what?”

Through the dim light, the sergeant looked questioningly at Teuns. The South African blushed where he stood. “I don’t think it’s anything special, mon Sergent,” he conceded. “A small stone fell from the top of the wall, almost onto mine and Ritchie’s heads.”

Catroux stared up at the wall, long and attentively. “Probably just the wind that blew it off,” he concluded.

“I think so too, mon Sergent,” said the South African.

“Is that why you and Ritchie look so pale this morning?” Fritz Mundt mockingly asked, busy placing his sleeping gear against the wall.

“It could have been the wind, it could also not have been the wind,” Jack Ritchie said firmly. “I don’t think we need to joke about the incident.”

“Stegmann, Mundt...” commanded Catroux, “walk through the ruins and see if you spot anything suspicious. We’ll meet you in ten minutes at the western wall. We’re only taking the light water flasks and our submachine guns. The rest of the gear stays here. Podolski, Ritchie, and Petacci will take turns carrying the large water flask so the millionaire and his daughter can at least wet their throats if they happen to be thirsty.”

Teuns and Fritz Mundt slung the submachine guns over their shoulders and immediately started walking into the ruins. They looked carefully, and the first impression they got was that they wouldn’t be able to determine in a few moments whether someone was hidden in these gigantic ruins. There was an astonishing chaos of walls, corridors, huge columns, old marble staircases leading upwards, decayed altars, and domes that had collapsed when the old walls gave way.

When they were well inside the ruins, Teuns stopped and looked back at the front wall on the other side where they had spent the night. He had a sudden insight. “Fritz, you go on, I’ll be right there,” Teuns said, and the next moment he swung around and ran back. There was a weathered staircase leading up the wall, presumably to the old parapet of the temple. Teuns ran up the stairs, keeping his eyes open. He walked across the broad top of the wall, stopped, and looked down at the place where they had slept last night, searching the ground carefully. He imagined he saw a disturbance of the ground here and there, of soil and pebbles, but he wasn’t sure at all. The wind had blown hard last night, and if someone had walked here, it wouldn’t be easy to spot this morning.

He saw Catroux and the others disappear around the southwestern corner of the temple. He saw Fritz Mundt weaving through the masses of stone and earth of the ruins. And suddenly he felt cold where he stood. He suddenly didn’t feel like being alone here. He quickly surveyed the surroundings, taking in the entire scope of the ruins with his alert eyes, but everything was still. The only movement was a few lazy vultures sitting far on the western wall of the temple, preening their feathers, then calmly taking flight and heading off.

Teuns shot back over the wall, flew down the stairs, and hurried after Fritz. He caught up with the German near the western wall.

“I just...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.8.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-077736-6 / 0000777366
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-077736-2 / 9780000777362