Night descended. The canyon filled with an inky blackness. At the mouth of the pass crouched two halftracks and a transport truck. The lead halftrack kept the thick gloom at bay with its piercing headlamps. Illuminating a defined circle with a sharp glare. Darkness huddled around the light, hemming them in a tight border.
A martial figure, ramrod straight and severe, stood watching his men round up the loathsome Rat Patrol. Out of the way at last.
'Less fun, but certainly easier than catching them yourself.'
Major Jäger watched with an air of boredom while his three new prisoners were loaded into a truck. One seemed a little worse for the wear, the other two, defiant. How tiresome.
He didn't need to look to know that his second shadow stood faithfully at his elbow.
"I am disappointed in you, Abu." The Major's manner was deathly calm. "You told me you could deliver four desert rats into my hands. I only see three."
"Have patience, great one. We will find the fourth, and you shall have him. And all the glory!" Jäger's head turned uncannily, like an owl's, to look down on the quivering Arab. Contempt in every line of his middle-aged, battle hardened face.
Abu stuttered, mumbled something in his own tongue, and clammed up.
"Save your words for those whose boots need licking." The German sneered. The Arab dropped his eyes, dutifully, and bowed his head. His whole manner far less bold. Jäger rolled his eyes in disgust and began walking toward the second halftrack. Abu rushed to catch up.
"Perhaps, Abu will have payment for these ones? Did he not deliver them as he said?"
"You will find the fourth one, my sniveling blood-seller, and you will turn him over to me. Then we shall discuss money."
A shout hailed from the lead halftrack.
"Herr Major!"
Turning smoothly, the Major faced the fast approaching officer. From the lead halftrack, a tall man, hard to distinguish but unmistakable in his bearing, advanced. Backlit by the lights on the halftrack; his entire front concealed by shadow. Jäger was not a whimsical man, but he fancied he saw a grim portence in the figure. A spectral prophesy, an avatar of death. Jäger quickly pushed all such whimsy from his mind.
"Yes, Captain Dietrich?" Jäger could see s smaller figure struggling to keep pace with the captain's stride.
"Herr Major, this boy has something important to say." The captain was unphased, but Naraheem was fighting for breath after the short jaunt.
"Well, roach? Spit it out." The Major ordered testily. Abu was shifting uncomfortably, beside him.
"Major," Naraheem gasped, "my brother was going to betray you. I wanted to bring them all to you, but he wanted to sell your prisoners back to the Allied dogs."
"I am loyal to the Germans!" Abu spluttered.
"Loyal to the mighty Germans, and his purse is stuffed with American monies." Naraheem shot back
"It is a lie, Major!!" Abu burst in a panicked whine. Naraheem's voice rose to a shriek.
"Tell them! Tell them how you planned to cheat them! Tell them where you hid the English!!"
A single shot rang out in the canyon. Naraheem staggered, and watched incredulously as blood poured from the hole in his middle.
Lifting his young head, he stared in bewilderment at the smoking colt .45 in his brother's hand.
His eyes locked with Abu's, they were wet with shock, and pain. Before his body buckled, and dropped to it's knees, and finally, to the ground with a sick thud.
Dietrich flinched at the stomach-turning sound.
"Well," Jäger began after a pause, "I don't suppose there's much a medic could do about that." The major's voice broke the morbid hypnosis that had descended on the three men. Carefully, Dietrich knelt by the boy. Abu lowered the American pistol. The Major turned and found all his men gawking at the little drama.
"What are you all goggling at? Get to your posts, prepare to move out!" He turned back to Dietrich. He was holding the boy, gently, examining the wound.
By the bright light from the halftrack, Jäger could see Naraheem's vivid red headscarf. An uncanny match with his own blood.
Abu seemed to have come down with a severe chill. He had begun to shake uncontrollably. His arm was limp, weighted down by the gun in his hand.
With an aggravated, helpless, sigh Dietrich reached and softly closed the boy's eyes. Still staring upwards, in confused accusation, asking an unvoiced question.
When shut, two unshed tears sprang from under his lashes and ran down Naraheem's face. Over the tanned cheeks, past the ugly welt on his jaw.
This upset the captain even more, though he tried to keep calm exteriorly. He laid the young Arab back on the ground and got to his feet.
"Wuller," he called. "Schmidt,..." but he could get no farther. Major Jäger came to his rescue.
"Get your shovels and give him a burial. He's small, it won't take long." And moved to stand by the younger man.
"No stomach for death, Captain?" He asked in a low voice. His words were laced with a cold disappointment. Regaining something of his officer's bearing, Dietrich answered.
"Not this kind, Herr Major." He stepped around the body, and headed toward his halftrack.
Passing by Abu, his hand, still covered in Naraheem's blood, shot out and grabbed a fistful of robe in a vice-like grip.
Dragging the stunned man until his nose was inches from his own, he snarled in the Arab's own language,
"The next time I see you is your last time seeing." With that threat, he gave a violent shove, throwing Abu backwards. He stalked away.