Death Stalks the Brave (eBook)

A South African Hero's Struggle in the French Foreign Legion, Book 29

Meiring Fouche, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
97 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
978-0-00-077879-6 (ISBN)

Infos

An entire army can vanish in a single night.

Only one man can stop the tide of death sweeping across the Sahara.

Sahara desert, 1940-1960. Legionnaire Teuns Stegmann is the perfect soldier, but his next mission is one no army would ever officially sanction. Plucked from his remote desert garrison by the shadowy Secret Service, he is transformed into the very enemy he has sworn to fight. His task. Infiltrate a secret summit of the Sahara's most powerful tribes and uncover the truth behind a weapon of unimaginable horror.

Deep in the enemy's den, he discovers the terrifying secret. A deadly plague engineered to annihilate the French Foreign Legion without a single shot fired. To stop the plot, he must navigate a web of deceit spun by a beautiful and ruthless leader and outwit the diabolical scientist who created the germ. Surrounded by enemies, one wrong move means discovery, and discovery means a death too gruesome to imagine.

The stakes have never been higher. If Stegmann fails, thousands of his brothers-in-arms will be wiped from the earth, and a biological terror will be unleashed upon the world. He is alone, disavowed, and racing against the clock.

A blistering mix of classic action-adventure and razor-sharp military suspense, this novel is perfect for fans of Alistair MacLean and Lee Child who crave non-stop thrills and a hero who will stop at nothing.

Step into this unforgettable twenty-ninth Sahara adventure now!

Textauszug

29. DEATH STALKS THE BRAVE

Chapter 1

PERFECT SOLDIER

It is exceedingly rare for an aircraft to be seen at Dini Salam, the southern garrison town of the French Foreign Legion in the Sahara Desert.

That is why, on this morning, shortly after their first drill practice of the day, the men bubble out of the dormitories like red ants and swarm onto the ramparts to listen to whatever droning sound this might be. Most of them are bare-chested, having just been washing after the strenuous drill practice Sergeant Catroux had subjected them to. They were just rinsing off their sweaty torsos, necks, faces, and hands when they first heard the droning.

Just as they reached the ramparts, they saw the smallish aircraft gliding in from the direction of Algiers, making a wide turn around the town, and then landing behind the low, flat-roofed structures of the Arab quarter in a cloud of sand and dust.

“Well, now,” says Fritz Mundt, the large German of the garrison, to Teuns Stegmann, the South African also serving in the garrison, here on the ramparts where they stand side by side. “An aeroplane! Perhaps it brings a messenger to say that all hostilities between the French Foreign Legion and the Arabs have now been called off. Perhaps our career is at an end, Stegmann,” says Fritz, squinting his eyes against the harsh glare of the Sahara sun.

“Yes,” says Teuns good-naturedly, “or perhaps it brings us a few crates of real German beer, old Big Fellow.”

Fritz looks reproachfully at his comrade who always teases him about German beer, something he hasn’t seen in years.

But they both know that something special is afoot. It is a swift, rather small aircraft they saw land. One of those four-seater models that looks like a large dragonfly.

After the aircraft disappears from view, they pay it no further mind. They turn and walk down from the ramparts towards the dormitory to lie down for a bit, feeling weary after the intensive exercise they have just endured.

In the dormitory, the men chatter excitedly about the arrival of the aircraft.

“You’d better polish your boots, lads,” says Petacci, one of the small group of intimate companions to which Teuns Stegmann and Fritz Mundt also belong. “I think it’s the Inspector-General of the French Foreign Legion coming to see if we can still puff out our chests, if we can still salute, and if we can still march smartly.”

“Nothing else,” says Jack Ritchie, sitting on his hard cot and pulling off his boots.

“If it were the Inspector-General,” says Podolski, the large Pole, “we would have gotten wind of it. They would have told us a few days ago to polish our boots, clean our rifles properly, and wash our ears.”

Thus, the men speculate, whilst the garrison commander, Colonel Le Clerq, and his second-in-command, Captain D’Arlan, race out of the fortress gate in the garrison’s only jeep to see who and what this unexpected aircraft has brought. Even the two officers are uncertain about the aircraft’s sudden arrival. They had no prior knowledge of it and haven’t the faintest idea of its purpose.

Like curious children, the men crowd together at the large barred windows when the jeep returns from the airfield. It stops near their quarters, and to their astonishment, they see a high-ranking officer of the French Foreign Legion jump briskly from the jeep.

“A Colonel,” Teuns says to Fritz.

“A Colonel, indeed!” Fritz answers excitedly. “This must mean something. It’s not for nothing that Algiers would send a colonel in a special aircraft to Dini Salam.”

“Yes, I think things are going to happen today,” says Teuns. “I wish I knew what was behind it.”

Le Clerq, D’Arlan, and the new arrival walk briskly towards Le Clerq’s office. And then the men speculated even more wildly about what was happening now. It wasn’t every day that a high-ranking officer of the Legion just landed here in a special aircraft.

Scarcely ten minutes pass after the colonel alights from the jeep before D’Arlan appears in the dormitory doorway. D’Arlan looks brisk and cool, calm and efficient as always. His alert eyes survey the dormitory, and then his clear, penetrating voice rings through the silence.

“Legionnaire Stegmann!” calls Captain D’Arlan. Teuns Stegmann, the tall, broad-shouldered South African of the French Foreign Legion, springs to attention, although at that moment he is without boots and wearing virtually only trousers.

“Oui, mon Capitaine,” says Teuns briskly.

“Legionnaire,” says D’Arlan, “will you please report to Colonel Le Clerq’s office within five minutes!” With that, D’Arlan turns on his heel, tucks his officer’s baton under his arm, and strides briskly out of the dormitory.

The men cluster around Teuns. They clamber over beds and stumble over chairs standing on the floor. Teuns looks questioningly at them, just as they look questioningly at him.

“And now?” asks Fritz Mundt, “and what do they want with Legionnaire Stegmann now?”

“Perhaps they want to make him a general,” jests Petacci.

The tall, blond South African merely smiles at all the nonsense being spoken. “Or perhaps they want to marry him off to the daughter of some Arab chieftain,” opines Podolski.

“Or perhaps they want to discharge him from the Legion,” ventures Jack Ritchie. They babble confusedly, but amidst the chatter, they help Teuns quickly get his full uniform on, because although D’Arlan gave no order regarding it, they know instinctively that Teuns must appear before the high-ranking arrival in his full kit in this instance.

One hands him his boot, another his shirt, yet another brings his kepi closer, and in no time, Teuns is in his full uniform and strides out of the dormitory with long steps, followed by the curious gazes of his comrades, hastening towards Colonel Le Clerq’s office.

There is a burning excitement within the South African. His blue eyes are narrowed, and his heart beats faster. Ever since joining the French Foreign Legion to try and find his brother, lost in the Second World War, Teuns has undergone strange experiences in the Sahara. But here, as his boots clatter across the flagstones towards the corridor leading to Le Clerq’s office, he has the impression that this might be the beginning of the strangest and most exciting experience he has ever had in the Sahara.

The orderly announces Teuns’s arrival. The door is opened for him, and he walks in quickly. He salutes smartly and clicks his heels together as he appears before Le Clerq, the strange colonel, and D’Arlan.

“Legionnaire Stegmann,” says Colonel Le Clerq, “this is Colonel La Crosse from the headquarters of the French Foreign Legion in Algiers.” Le Clerq’s voice is curt, businesslike, and measured.

Again, Teuns salutes smartly, and Colonel La Crosse returns the salute.

Then Le Clerq speaks again. “Legionnaire Stegmann,” he says, “you have two hours to prepare yourself to fly to Algiers with Colonel La Crosse.”

Teuns has to restrain his curiosity from looking from Le Clerq to La Crosse. La Crosse says not a single word. He just stands there with his hands behind his back, a picture of military precision and perfection, and does not open his mouth. He merely stares appraisingly at the tall man who has appeared before him.

“Oui, mon Colonel,” Teuns says to Le Clerq.

“That will be all, Legionnaire,” says Le Clerq, and the tall man salutes, turns on his heel, and quickly walks out of Colonel Le Clerq’s office.

This is one of the most incomprehensible things he has ever encountered. This is the strangest interview he has ever had with any officer. All he is told is that he must prepare himself to fly to Algiers with a strange colonel within two hours. Could he have done something for which they want to discipline him? But that is impossible. If he had done something requiring discipline, Le Clerq would discipline him here in the garrison fortress of Dini Salam. What strikes him as most peculiar is that Le Clerq or D’Arlan almost never give a man an order without at least giving some indication of the reason or purpose behind it.

But not today. All he is told is that he must fly to Algiers in haste.

Immediately after he walks out, the door is swung shut behind him, and Colonel La Crosse, the short, darkish man with the perfect military bearing and the perfect military mentality, turns to Le Clerq. “Mon Colonel,” he says to Le Clerq, “do you think this is your most suitable man?”

“One of the very best in the garrison,” says Le Clerq. “I cannot give you a better man.” Le Clerq is just as curious as Teuns. He too knows nothing. He hasn’t the vaguest notion of the purpose concerning Teuns Stegmann. La Crosse simply entered and stated his requirements calmly, composedly, brusquely, and clearly. He wants a legionnaire, strong of constitution, brave, enterprising, with a reasonable knowledge of Arabic dialects and extensive, intensive knowledge of conditions in the Sahara. But above all, he wants a man who can show initiative in the most dangerous and extraordinary circumstances.

He doesn’t merely want a soldier. He wants a man who can adapt in danger. Who can make plans. Who has an enterprising spirit. And above all, a man who is utterly fearless.

“Yes, he is your man, Colonel,” says D’Arlan. “He is the perfect soldier. He is the only man in Dini Salam I can think of who meets all the requirements you have set.”

“Excellent,” says La Crosse. “Excellent. He seems intelligent to me. He is strong of body, and I can see he...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.8.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-077879-6 / 0000778796
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-077879-6 / 9780000778796