The Fallen Walls (eBook)

A South African Hero's Struggle in the French Foreign Legion, Book 23

Meiring Fouche, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
96 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
978-0-00-077875-8 (ISBN)

Infos

Death arrives on the scorching Sahara wind.

But it isn't the sun or an enemy's blade that fells men at the ruins of Fort Laval.

It's a silent, horrifying poison.

Sahara desert, 1940-1960. Captain D'Arlan, the legendary 'Houdini of the desert,' is tasked with rebuilding the Legion's most vital outpost. But as his hired laborers drop dead from a gruesome, unseen poison, suspicion turns to mutiny, and D'Arlan realizes the clock is ticking down to a war he can't possibly win.

Trapped between resentful workers and a penal platoon of dangerous convicts, D'Arlan is a commander sitting on a powder keg. With every death, the fuse shortens, and out on the dunes, a 20 000-strong army gathers for the final, bloody slaughter.

When the ultimate betrayal leaves him with only a handful of loyal soldiers against an unstoppable horde, D'Arlan must make an impossible stand. In the Sahara, survival is a mirage, and victory is a madman's dream.

A gritty, high-stakes military thriller blending the classic adventure of Alistair MacLean with the relentless tension of Lee Child. This is a story of survival, betrayal, and the brutal cost of duty in the unforgiving desert.

Step into this unforgettable twenty-third Sahara adventure now!

Textauszug

Chapter 2

CONSTERNATION

D’Arlan and Catroux did not linger long there under the temporary shelter where they had laid down the new victim of the mysterious illness. They realized it was unnecessary for them to linger there any longer, for another man had since died, and the others lying there were close to death. They realized well enough that it was only a matter of time before all these mute creatures who had fallen ill would be no more.

It was as they stepped out into the sun that D’Arlan noticed the other Arabs had stopped working. They stood questioningly there in the sun, and some of them were talking excitedly amongst themselves. The Legionnaires working with them, who also supervised them, tried in vain to get them back to work. They were clearly too agitated to do anything now.

D’Arlan and Catroux walked closer to the workers. It did not take D’Arlan long to see the suspicion and rebelliousness smouldering in those dark eyes. The group of Arab workers now stood motionless just where they had dropped the stones from their hands. Suddenly, they stopped talking. They just looked at D’Arlan. But standing here, he knew that although they no longer made a sound, a covenant of hatred existed between them. A covenant of resistance. He knew that within a short time, they had transformed from workers into Arab warriors. D’Arlan knew well enough that there was surely not one among them who did not hate and who would not gladly spill the blood of a Legionnaire. They were the dregs, he knew that. For only the dregs of the Arabs from the backstreets of Algiers and the other large cities would be willing to work for the French Foreign Legion for money. In his deepest soul, D’Arlan realized that no decent Arab would even dream of moving a stone for the Foreign Legion, even if you paid him a fortune. Yes, these were the dregs who could, in one moment, become a savage, bloodthirsty, vengeful mob.

Therefore, the French captain knew that he would have to act quickly and correctly here. He turned to Catroux. “Call their foreman, mon Sergent,” he said.

Catroux stepped forward a little and called for Hassan, who was regarded as the leader of this group. From one side, a rather large, strongly built Arab with the face of a nobleman but the eyes of a villain suddenly came forward. He came stumbling over the stones to where D’Arlan stood. When he stopped short before the captain, his long face was expressionless and his eyes calm.

“Hassan,” said D’Arlan, “do you have any idea what could have happened to these men that they fell ill? It is something very severe that has struck them. Could it be that they perhaps ate something?”

Although D’Arlan spoke kindly and concernedly, rebelliousness suddenly flared up in Hassan. “How should I know?” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “Our people just get sick here and die. How would I know what is wrong with them?” He looked around him, suspicion glowing in his eyes. “All I know,” said Hassan, “is that it is only Arabs who are getting sick and dying. I have not seen a single Legionnaire get sick yet.” A peculiar smile played around his slack mouth. In his eyes glittered something like triumph. And that disturbed D’Arlan.

“What are you insinuating, Hassan?” the captain said quickly in Arabic. “Are you trying to suggest that a member of the Foreign Legion has something to do with the death of your people?”

“Then why is it only Arabs who are getting sick?” Hassan asked defiantly.

For a moment, D’Arlan did not know what to answer. It was completely true. Here, quite a few Arabs had now fallen violently ill, and several were already dead. And yet, not a single Legionnaire had been affected.

“That is so,” D’Arlan said quickly, “but there could be a thousand reasons why your people are getting sick. There could be something wrong with the food without us having anything to do with it. They could have eaten something bad. How should I know? Or do you think that we would harm your people while we depend on them for the rebuilding of this fort? Surely you do not think we are so short-sighted, Hassan. I want you to get that idea out of your head. You must get the idea out of your head that the Legion has anything to do with the death of your people. And the sooner, the better.”

D’Arlan spoke urgently, and that authority which distinguished him from most other men resonated in his voice. There was a hardness and an implacability in his words that made Hassan feel uncomfortable.

“If anyone else gets sick,” D’Arlan said to Catroux, “you must summon me immediately. In the meantime, we will have to see if we cannot determine what happened.” Then he turned again to Hassan. “I am sorry, Hassan,” said D’Arlan. “I am genuinely sorry about what happened to your people. I just trust that we will find out soon enough what happened. It is a serious matter, and we must resolve it as quickly as possible.”

Then the small French man walked back to his canvas cover, followed by Catroux. When D’Arlan sat down at his trestle table, he looked tired and uneasy. “Well, that’s just great, Catroux,” he remarked. “What a devilish thing to strike us precisely at this stage. We must immediately try to determine what is going on. I see the germ of great danger here. You must not forget, we are only about forty men. We find ourselves among some three hundred enraged Arab workers who would cut our throats at the slightest provocation. Added to that, we are stuck with fifty men from the penal platoon. And if they are not the dregs of the French Foreign Legion, they would not be in the penal platoon. I do not know why the high command insisted that these fifty offenders must come help here of all places. I trust that bunch only as far as I can see them. They will try to overrun us at the slightest provocation to try and escape the Foreign Legion that way. They just place a strain on the conditions here. I would much rather have managed without them.”

“Yes, they are a rotten bunch, mon Capitaine,” Catroux agreed. “They are defiant. They are lazy and unreliable. The fifty of them do even less work than these Arabs. I constantly have to push them, threaten them, and stay on their necks, otherwise they get no stitch of work done.”

D’Arlan looked up at the sergeant. “There is one thing you must never forget, Catroux,” said D’Arlan, “and that is that these fifty men of the penal platoon are in many ways more dangerous than the Arabs. We know what we have with the Arabs, but we do not know what we have with that other bunch. Remember, Catroux, they are the stepchildren of the world. The lost, the sunken, the dregs. They hold a grudge against heaven and earth. They are reckless, and they are brave. Therefore, you must watch them, Catroux. You must not relax your vigilance for a moment. They would seize all our weapons with a smile and then wipe us out with them.”

He shook his head quickly. Gazed over the glittering sand away to where the first heat hazes of the day began to dance like shimmering devils on the horizon. “I do not like this business, Catroux,” said D’Arlan. “This sudden illness and death among the Arabs feels very much like someone wanting to bring a match to the powder keg. And do not forget, you and I and the other handful of Legionnaires sleep and work on a powder keg. A powder keg consisting of three hundred Arabs and fifty offenders in the penal platoon.”

Suddenly he fell silent and looked down at his hands. Then he looked quickly up at Catroux again. “Do you not have any medical knowledge, my friend?” he asked Catroux.

“No, I am afraid I do not know much about it, mon Capitaine,” the sergeant answered.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to these Arabs?”

“I am afraid I have no idea, Captain.”

“Summon the cook for me who is responsible for the food of these creatures,” D’Arlan ordered.

Catroux stepped out from under the awning and sent someone to the tent camp of the Arabs, located right near the ruins of Fort Laval.

Not long after, a rather short, surprised Arab stood before D’Arlan.

“You are the cook?”

“I am the cook.”

“A short while ago, a number of your people here suddenly fell ill. A few are already dead. They fell violently ill and died within a few minutes. Could it be that they ate something?”

D’Arlan noticed the fine glint of sweat under the cook’s eyes and on his upper lip.

“Cannot know, Captain. I make the same food for everyone.”

“For everyone in the same pot?”

“No, Captain. I find it easier to cook in several smaller pots.”

“I want you to conduct the finest investigation to see if you cannot find any indication of what these unfortunate few men could have ingested. I feel convinced that it is something they ate. There can be no other reason.” D’Arlan suddenly looked hard into the Arab’s eyes. “It could even be that they ingested poison,” he said quickly, studying the expression on the cook’s face. It seemed as if the Arab recoiled in shock. And when he answered, D’Arlan knew that this cook was at least one man who had nothing to do with the death of his compatriots.

“But, Captain,” he said, disconcerted, “how can it be poison in their food? I work with it myself. No one can administer it without me seeing it.”

“It is just a suggestion,” D’Arlan answered calmly. “I do not know what it is.” He slammed his flat hand hard on the table. “But I want to know what it is before other men perhaps die. I rely on you to try and find out what it could be.”

“I will do my best,...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.8.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-077875-3 / 0000778753
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-077875-8 / 9780000778758