Hello Readers.
Please excuse the writer's notes at the top, we have a couple important notes before we dive in.
First, a reader skip warning at the marked section of Part 2 Delenda. It contains elements of the Jewish Holocaust in Tunisia. Its not too graphic but the imagery and content might be a bit much for some readers who should just skip it.
Second. Over the past few months author Rodsantos has been lending his fantastic writing talent to the updates and progress of this story. Rodsantos is effectively a partner in the story development, writing, editing and I'm thankful to whatever powers are out there that our paths crossed and a partnership began. I (pinhead) write the overall story, outline, and draft then Rodsantos cleans up, re-writes, enhances, which turns mediocre into amazing.
So far chapters 1 - 9 have been fully re-written and with his support I think we can finish the story next year with most of the threads tied off.
Third, this chapter wraps up the North Africa Campaign which is why it's a bit long. If you know your WW2 history you can take a guess at what comes next in the theater of operations.
Part 1 of 2: A New Oath
"How seriously do you take this oath, exactly?" asked Moffitt."
Djedeida Airfield, Tunisia — February 27th, 1943
Unteroffizier Hans-Ekkehard Bob of the Luftwaffe gazed out into the moonlit Tunisian desert, blowing out a thick gray cloud of smoke. A cigarette burned away between his fingers, warming his hands against the cool spring night.
Leaning against the rough stone wall of the squadron mess hall, he frowned deeply. From inside, he could hear his fellow airmen singing a raucous chorus about bombers, beer, and women to the tune of some old marching song.
"Dumme evolutionsbremse," he muttered under his breath, taking another deep drag on the cigarette. They were damned fools, every one of them, for their complacency. The British had relentlessly been striking the airfields down south with long-range overland raids, and yet the men inside felt safe enough to maintain their celebratory mood.
Celebrating what exactly, he had no idea. The enemy had established a deep foothold to the west and southwest, and were probing up and down the German line for a weak point. Hans himself had set enough Allied reconnaissance vehicles ablaze to know that. If they breached the line, the rest of Tunisia would be laid bare for them to roll across.
The enemy naval campaign in the Mediterranean against the Afrika Korps' supply chain was also taking its toll. Every passing day, Hans found less fuel and ammunition being loaded into his aircraft by the service personnel. When once he had been able to loiter over the battlefield and engage the enemy at his leisure, he was now forced to pick out targets of opportunity and run back home before he ran out of gasoline.
The distinct barks and yelps of desert dogs fighting over something drew his attention back to the flat expanse of sand beyond the airfield boundary. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, settling on the far guard tower at the edge of the perimeter. It was unmanned.
"That's odd."
Fabric softly rustled behind him, barely audible over the loud singing. Hans felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he instantly recognized what his instincts told him. He was being watched .
"Who's there?" He fumbled for the holster at his hip, clumsily pulling open the flap.
The words had scarcely left his lips when a strong hand clamped painfully over his mouth, dragging him backwards. Hans thrashed violently, flinging his elbow back in a futile effort to fend off the attack, but his blows found thin air. His assailant was too skilled for that
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the brief glint of metal. Blazing pain tore its way across his throat, and something warm and wet ran down his neck and across his chest. He tried to yell, a warning, a plea for help, but he could summon nothing but a weak gurgle from his mouth, which tasted of metal against his tongue.
Hans went limp. He felt the force of two firm hands under his arms, easing him to the ground. The last thing he saw before the darkness closed in were the cold blue eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
"Schön," he gasped, and was still.
Neither of them knew it then, but the woman had just taken revenge on behalf of all the Polish men, women, and children who had fallen to the pilot's bombs three and a half years ago.
~{0}~
Pearl bent down, wiping the blood from her Fairbairn knife on the dead pilot's flying jacket. She slid the blade back into its sheath and crouched in the shadows, listening for any sign that her kill had attracted any attention.
Good, no alarm. The singing from inside was as loud as ever.
Raising her arm, she signalled for Tully, then unhooked two grenades from her combat harness and yanked out the safety pins. Behind her, she could hear Tully doing the same. Frank appeared by their side, holding his rifle in one hand and a grenade in the other.
"Ready," he mouthed silently. Glancing over, Tully nodded and held up his pair of grenades in affirmation as well.
Pearl nodded back, counting down on her fingers. Three, two, one.
Frank raised his rifle, driving the stock through the window. The glass shattered instantly. Pearl and Tully flung their grenades through the opening and dropped back down, taking cover against the ground.
Throwing the sling of his rifle over his shoulder, Frank lobbed his own grenade into the room and ducked behind the thick concrete wall. He reached into his harness, coming out with a stamped-metal signal gun.
"Granaten! Granaten!" bellowed a voice from inside. The room dissolved into pandemonium. Metal screeched on concrete as chairs were thrown back, and footsteps clattered against the floor as pilots raced for the exits.
The hall shuddered under the force of six blasts, detonating two by two. The panicked cries of alarm were replaced by the screams of the wounded and dying. One of the pilots, uniform streaked with trails of blood, slumped against the broken window. Tully pushed him back into the room to unblock his view.
A bright flare burst over the flight line, bathing the fleet of attack bombers and transports in a red glow. Pearl unslung her rifle and dashed towards the light, leaving the charnel house that had once been the mess hall unseen.
The facility was now on full alert. The earsplitting wail of an air raid siren echoed out from a watchtower, and armed guards poured out of the barracks at the far end of the field. Some ran for defensive emplacements, while others formed up into search teams, fanning out across the tarmac.
Frank and Tully caught up with Pearl by the side of a Junkers cargo aircraft. The three of them ducked under one of the wings as a searchlight swept over the flight line.
"Wait for it..." murmured Pearl, holding up a fist. The powerful beam of light lingered briefly on the flight line, roving back and forth across a row of dive bombers a few aircraft down, then lifted to resume its circuitous route. "Go!"
They broke cover, rushing from shadow to shadow as they cut and slashed at control cables, brake lines, tires—anything they could do to keep the aircraft out of service as long as possible. Every additional hour they spent grounded meant one less bomb which fell on friendly troops and one less resupply trip for the enemy.
Dragging her knife through the front tire of a Dornier, Pearl watched it deflate rapidly. The bomber eased down towards the pavement until its undercarriage sat forlornly on its rims. It was the last aircraft in the row. Frank pulled her behind a supply cart to await the second phase of the operation.
Barely two minutes after the grenades had done their deadly work, the roar of a multitude of engines rumbled across the airfield. Dozens of armed jeeps burst over the perimeter line, firing on everything in sight. Guard towers, sandbagged machine gun nests, anti-aircraft positions, and anything else that dared return fire were inundated with blazing yellow tracers from multiple vehicles.
Two columns of jeeps rolled along the flight line, cruising in practiced formation. The machine guns thundered again, cutting through the parked aircraft from wingtip to wingtip until the pavement was a mess of scrap metal and plexiglass.
One of the vehicles broke formation, grinding to a halt beside the supply cart. Pearl, Frank, and Tully took it as their cue and clambered aboard. The back bench, designed for two people, was a tight fit.
"Hell of a show." From the gunner's position at the front passenger seat, James grinned back at them. Spent casings rattled against each other on the metal floor; he had clearly been busy. The driver gunned the engine, expertly accelerating forward to fill the gap in the column once more.
A bright green flare ignited high in the sky above the speeding jeep, signalling the end of the operation. Most of the heavy ammunition and explosives had been exhausted, and all that was left was for the troopers to get away cleanly.
Within seconds, the SAS and LRDG elements had melted into the inky darkness of the North African desert, never to be seen again. In the following days the Luftwaffe would hunt them keenly, but ultimately their efforts would be for naught. Every vehicle involved in the raid returned safely to base.
8th Army HQ, Tataouine, Tunisia — March 2nd
The rays of the newborn sun poked through the narrow gaps of the squad's yurt, dimly illuminating the organized mass of soldiers and equipment within. A desert breeze playfully rustled through the heavy cloth, sending little clouds of dust swirling in the morning light.
Much to the annoyance of the little yurt's occupants, a bugle began to play reveille in the distance, rousing the camp to muster for the day's choirs, patrols and maintenance. Tully turned over in his mattress with a sleepy grunt, burying his face in the warm pillow. On the opposite side of the tent, Frank grumbled a string of muffled curses, crawling on his hands and knees on the canvas floor to search for his boots. He ducked through the tent flap, heading In the direction of the latrines.
In her corner of the room, Pearl sat cross-legged on a small carpet laid out neatly at the foot of her cot, deep in meditation. Her freshly cleaned rifle rested on its stand beside her, along with the rest of her equipment. On her lap was her favorite sword, and in her hand was the cloth she had been using to polish it. An ashtray sat by her knee, containing the smoldering remains of several cigarettes.
Sitting up on his bunk bed, James watched her closely, searching for any sign of distress or unease behind those closed eyes. Her peaceful face betrayed nothing. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest, and the occasional huff of air or twitch of an eyelid confirmed she was, in fact, alive and conscious.
"How long's she been like that?"
James said nothing, but shifted over to let Tully take a seat next to him on the cot. As they looked on, Pearl's eye twitched slightly, followed by an almost imperceptible shudder that ran through her whole body.
"About an hour," answered James quietly. "That's the fourth one now. Happens about every fifteen minutes."
Tully frowned at the news. "So it's getting worse?"
"I think so." James uncorked a hip flask and took a deep swig. After the highly successful raid up north, they had been pulled off the line for the next few days, and regulations had been relaxed slightly for the veteran squad. "It really picked up after that last mission. You said she knifed someone, didn't she?"
"Yeah. I've never seen someone slash a throat so...gracefully, I suppose."
"That one must've really left an impression on her. She looked pretty shaken on the drive back."
"And the pilots in the mess hall, too," Tully observed. "I mean, she went along with it, but she wasn't happy about it in the slightest. Said that there was nothing sporting or fair about it at all."
"Tully, I've fought alongside her for three years. Name any brutal act and we've probably done it together. We've strangled and cut throats without mercy across five countries and two continents. We've watched men for hours on end, memorized every detail of their daily lives, seen them sob over pictures of their wives and children—then we blew their brains out. We even once stole a German tank and turned it against them."
"I've heard the stories. When the lads in the regiment found out that they assigned me to your squad, they told me what I was in for." Tully shook his head. "But everyone's got their breaking point. Even you. Even her."
James downed another gulp from his flask, looking from Tully to Pearl and back. Across the room, Pearl whimpered, but otherwise remained expressionless. As if they held a mind of their own, her hands had resumed polishing the sword. James had seen her performing the ritual countless times before, and knew she was working from memory.
"You said she made eye contact with the man as he bled out?"
Tully nodded. Reaching out, he helped himself to a mouthful from the flask.
James glanced annoyedly at him, but said nothing. There was a man from the field kitchens who would refill the drink in exchange for more war stories.
"No wonder she nearly broke down on our way home." He took back the flask and sighed. "She hasn't had much of a break from combat since we left home. God, none of us have!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
James and Tully nearly jumped out of their skins. Without warning, Pearl continued to scream, scrambling back against the thin walls of the yurt. She swung her sword wildly, desperately trying to fight something off. Her bright blue eyes were wild with fear, locked onto a threat only she could see.
"James, no!" shouted Tully at the flash of movement to his side.
James wasn't listening. He lunged across the room, narrowly ducking under a sword thrust which would have slashed through his sternum. His fingers closed around her forearm, and he muttered a prayer. If this didn't work, he had no other way to stop her.
At the touch of his hand, Pearl's grip slackened. The sword clattered to the floor with a dull thud. James wrapped her in a tight embrace, gently stroking her hair as he felt her thin body shudder against his chest.
"Are you mad?" Tully jumped to his feet. Grabbing a nearby coil of rope, he held it out to James.
"For the love of God, put that down." James waved him off. Pearl had already begun to relax in his arms. "You'll only make it worse."
Shaking his head in bewilderment, Tully threw the rope down. "'ll give you two some privacy. If I find Frank, I'll tell him to steer clear for a little while."
"Thanks," breathed James , but his focus had already returned to Pearl.
With one last glance at them, Tully shrugged his shoulders and headed for the tent flap. James and Pearl were alone, for the time being.
"That was very foolish, James," chided Pearl. Though her voice was muffled against his shoulder, she made no attempt to dislodge herself. "I could have killed you. How do you think I'd handle it if I had killed you?"
"Are you good?"
"I'll be okay."
"Tomorrow, you're making an appointment to speak to the camp counselor." James shook his head. "No arguments. The only way any of us are going to survive this madness in one piece is by having our heads on straight."
"You know what else would help me relax?" She shot him a mischievous smile. Her hand wandered down his back, giving him a sly pinch.
James reddened. He gently released her from his grip, giving her a quick peck on her gem. "You switch gears fast."
"Everyone needs an outlet for stress. Mine just happens to be the best weapons specialist in the unit."
Another kiss.
"Later, I'll stop by the kitchens and find a refill for this... " James lifted his canteen, "...then I'll liberate some bully and biscuit rations and we'll head out to watch the sunset. What do you think?"
"Sounds like a date!"
"Then it's on. Just promise me that you'll see the counselor tomorrow and talk things out." James held Pearl by the shoulders, fixing her with a look of deep concern. "Yes? Do it for my sake, if you must."
"Fine, but I'll need another kiss and a cigarette first."
James slipped a pack from his breast pocket, offering it to Pearl. She leaned in, pulling a cigarette from the box with her lips. He brought up his lighter, and she took her first deep puff.
"You know, those things are bad for you. They'll make your breath smell."
"A good thing I don't have lungs. Or any real need to breathe, actually."
"True. You never taste like cigarettes when we kiss…but I might need another sample to be sure."
They leaned in for a third kiss, but Pearl suddenly pulled away in alarm. A moment later, James knew why. The tent flap was thrown open once more, filling the room with a disorienting flash of morning light. Captain Moffitt's imposing form stood silhouetted in the doorway, an attache case in one hand. Behind him hovered the sheepish faces of Tully and Frank.
"Am I interrupting something?" Not waiting for an answer, Moffitt strode into the room and threw his bag down on the central table. He dropped onto the bench with an inelegant thump and unlocked the case, pulling out a bundle of briefing documents and maps.
"No...of course not, sir."
Pearl and James exchanged confused glances, then untangled themselves to find their places at the table. Frank and Tully took the opposite bench, sliding their breakfast trays across. The still-steaming food indicated how sudden the summons had been.
"Everyone ready to listen?" asked Moffitt.
"Yes, sir." Pearl studied one of the maps. "The Mareth Line? That's where they're sending us?"
"Mareth—?" James craned his neck to peer over Pearl's shoulder, then glanced up at Moffitt. "But that makes no sense, sir. Why would they waste us on a static defensive line? That's a job for the Armored Corps."
Moffett smiled knowingly. Picking up a pencil, he began tracing a line across the map. The rest of the squad looked on in confusion as the graphite threaded down a narrow canyon, past a dry riverbed, then hooked up towards the other side of the mountains.
"That's the mission. Command wants us and our friends over at the LRDG to scout this route here, through the Tebaga Gap."
"But why?" Frank piped up, squinting at the map. "It's miles out of the way, and we can't even use it. The tanks are too heavy for the loose sand out there, and Jerry knows it. There's a reason he's not defending the area."
"I told you to listen, didn't I?" Moffitt paused for a moment, eyeing every person around the table. When he was satisfied that there were no more complaints, he continued on. "A few months ago, the LRDG found a path which can support our armor. Back then, Command had no use for it, so the plans were shelved."
"So, what's changed? Why do they need the place now?"
"I was getting to that, Wilson." Moffitt glared at Frank in exasperation. "Intelligence says that Rommel's preparing a counterattack. They're confident of holding him off, but they need us to keep the gap clear for the time being."
"Why even attack?" James ran a quick eye over a file, which contained the estimated dispositions of the enemy's forces. "Fritz's trapped between us and the Americans. An attack's just going to waste supplies and manpower, and he doesn't have much of either to spare."
"They think they can relieve pressure on the Mareth Line and buy themselves some time if they hit us now. Could've worked, if they had surprise on their side, but now we know when to expect them."
Pearl lit off a fresh cigarette, leaning back in her chair. Her blue eyes stared straight up at the canvas ceiling in thought.
"Something on your mind, little sister?" Frank stretched out an arm to help himself to her pack. She slapped his hand away, quickly stuffing the box back into her pocket.
"It's the Ardennes all over again," she mused, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "But instead of the Germans using supposedly impassable terrain to hit our flank, it's us. Our turn to return the favor."
"You make that sound like a bad thing," said Tully, returning his attention to the now-cold breakfast tray in front of him. "Do you actually want another hard fight? You haven't even had the proper time to recover from the last one."
James drove a boot into Tully's shin with a venomous glare, eliciting a sharp yelp of pain. "Don't meddle. What you saw earlier? That was none of your business."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Tully winced, rubbing the afflicted leg.
Pearl placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "James, please. He has a right to be worried. We all need to know that we can rely on each other out there."
He opened his mouth to protest, but a firm squeeze silenced any further complaint. She searched his expression, and saw that the usual brightness and mirth had drained away, leaving nothing but cold exhaustion. Clasping his hand over hers, he gently pressed back.
"It's true, Tully." Pearl met his eyes. "I've been having a difficult time lately with killing, especially when I have to do it up close. The pilot at Djedeida? That was tough for me.
She looked around the table, waiting for an interruption, but none came. "As a member of the Crystal Gems, I swore an oath to defend this planet and all life forms who live in it from Homeworld's tyranny. That oath has guided my life for the past five millenia."
"Did you two know this?" Moffit glanced at Frank, James and Tully. "Command gave me a briefing on her when I took over, but it only covered the basics about her abilities and a few other notes. They never told me anything about her history."
Now it was James' turn to look surprised. "You didn't know? She told us—Darren, George, Frank, and I—during our first combat mission, six months after we met. You've known her for a whole year."
"I don't think anyone's had the time to ask for the full story," Frank pointed out. "Took her a long time to tell us all in Poland."
"Command has a full dossier on my Gem abilities?" Pearl reached for the briefcase, hoping to get a better look at the notes inside. "What's in it? Did Rose send it?"
Moffitt slammed the case shut and pulled it away from her. "It's a small file. Nothing interesting."
Tully slammed his canteen onto the table with a heavy thump, bringing the various conversations to a rapid halt. "Can we please get back to the topic at hand?"
"Ah, yes. My apologies." Pearl spared one final glance at the briefcase, then turned back to face Tully. "As I was saying, the oath I took. I've spent the last four years breaking it. I've been doing my level best to violently extinguish the lives of Germans, Italians, and pretty much anyone else who supports their cause.
"I've tried to justify it to myself many times. The men I killed were fighting to further the most evil cause in human history. Some of them have even been complicit in its crimes. Those are the reasons I've repeated to myself over and over again. They're good reasons, but then I remember the oath I swore, and they start to pale in comparison."
"How seriously do you take this oath, exactly?" asked Moffitt.
"It was an oath on the trust of the person who I hold above all others in this universe. Imagine if you stood there on the mountain where Jesus of Nazareth was crucified, and at the moment he breathed his last, you placed your hand on his cross and swore to never kill a man. How seriously would you take that oath, Captain?"
"What changed, then? Why are you here? Why did you slash a man's throat a couple days ago?"
"Because I realized that sometimes you have to break an oath to fully uphold it. You humans, you've grown in power faster than we thought you would. You grew so rapidly that you've far outstripped all sense and wisdom, and now you are well down the path towards your own destruction."
"If I didn't act, I'd be guilty of a far worse crime. A sin of omission, if you will. And that's been my main and strongest justification for why I'm here, for why I've killed. It's a far better argument than simple retribution, and yet you still see me struggle."
"But why are you here?" Moffitt demanded. "Why aren't you standing beside Monty, helping him win the war? Or Churchill, for that matter, if you're so powerful."
"Even after I realized how powerful you had gotten, I still underestimated humanity. This world has too much darkness in it for one Crystal Gem to fully extinguish on their own. Even if I used the full extent of my powers, it wouldn't be anywhere near enough to win the war by myself."
Frank nodded. "All right, I think we all understand. But how can we be confident that you're going to hold it together?"
Pearl smiled warmly, placing her hand at the center of the table. "Take my hand, all of you."
After a little hesitation, the others complied, reaching out and putting theirs over hers. Finally, she placed her remaining hand on top.
"You have become like a family to me, brothers, friends, however you want to call it. There may be too much darkness in this world for me to face alone, but if I can keep this little pocket of light going, then it'll be enough."
She paused for a moment, using her jacket sleeve to wipe a tear from her cheek. "I swear to you a new oath. I will see to it that each of you will survive this madness."
"What if..." mumbled Tully hesitantly. "...what if Jerry gets lucky and one of us doesn't make it?"
"What did I say about your mouth?" James slammed his fist on the tabletop, sending a rattle through the objects strewn across it.
"Sorry," pleaded Tully, pulling his legs up to prevent another hard kick. "It just slipped out, I swear!"
"Ahem." Pearl's voice had a cold, hard edge in it now. "Gentlemen, please hear me out.
"I failed Darren and George. It pains my heart, and a day does not go by without me thinking of them. I failed to prevent their deaths, and I failed to take revenge on their killers. But if I fail again, if the enemy slips one by me one more time, I swear by everything I hold dear that I will deal them total destruction in vengeance. I'll bring such fire and brimstone down upon their heads that all the artillery of this army would seem like firecrackers."
The rest of the team stared at each other in silence, trying to digest her words. Tully looked almost ashamed at himself, while James nodded resolutely.
"Good enough for me," Moffitt finally said, jumping to his feet. Picking up his briefcase, he checked that it was secure, then headed for the exit. "Everyone be ready by sunset. We leave at eighteen-hundred hours."
South of the Matmata Hills, Tunisia — March 4th
The jeep pulled off the ancient road through the mountain pass, grinding to a halt at the center of the tiny Berber village. The plume of dust which had trailed in their wake briefly swirled in the air, covering everyone with a thick brown cloud which obscured their vision. When the dust finally settled, the townsfolk who had been suspiciously observing their approach had suddenly vanished
"Good God," grumbled Tully, leaning on the steering wheel. He wiped the sweat from his brow and frowned at the streak of wet dust which he had rubbed off onto his sleeve. "The way they're hiding from us, you'd think we all had horns and tails."
"Can you blame them? What with all the trouble the Germans and Italians are making for them." Moffitt surveyed the surrounding stone houses. Here and there, a furtive face peered out from behind a window or around a corner. He put on a forced smile, waving to an elder watching them from a flat roof. "Marhaba! Albiritaniuwn nahn biritaniuwn wadudun."
The old man glared down at the team, snarled a sharp retort in Arabic, and disappeared from sight.
Mofitt turned back to the jeep, gesturing to a group of young men who had appeared at the far end of the street. A few of them clutched old muskets in their hands. "Wilson! On the fifty-caliber, but keep the barrel pointed up. Let's hope for their sake that these lads aren't feeling unfriendly."
"Don't have to tell me twice." Frank clambered up to the pintle-mounted heavy machine gun, casually leaning against it as if it were a walking stick. Eyeing the men, he lazily puffed on a cigarette.
Pearl climbed out of the jeep, boots crunching on the gravel road. Pulling off her helmet, she shook the grit from her hair and put on her brightest smile. "Let's see if they respond better to a friendly face."
"P, wait a second—" warned James, but she was already striding away.
"Min fadlik taeal nahn wadudun wajalb al'iimdadat wal'akhbar," she called out, approaching the house where the elder had been. The man reappeared at a window, staring down at her with a look of deep surprise on his face.
"Fatat aljundii!" he shouted in reply, still gawking at her.
"Balaa. Arjuk anzil lilhadith."
The man nodded. He withdrew again, but this time, it was soon followed by the groan of a rusty door hinge and the thud of wood on stone.
James stared at Pearl, slack-jawed. "When did you learn Arabic?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he felt his heart flutter for a moment at her bright smile and twinkling eyes. The sight was undiminished by the streaks of dirt on her face, and he would never get tired of seeing it.
"I've been studying with the LRDG, and Captain Moffitt was kind enough to teach me some new phrases too."
"Don't get all bothered, Appleby," Moffitt growled. "I'm not making a move. It's just useful to have another Arabic speaker in the unit, and I'd rather not waste my time trying to drill it into any of your thick skulls."
"Why didn't you try Sergeant Morgan first, Captain?" asked Frank, still leaning idly on the machine gun. "Anyone who can manage that Welsh gibberish would be a bloody natural at this."
Before Moffitt could reply, the old man appeared from around the building. He walked hesitantly towards the squad gathered around the jeeps, holding his hands up in the air.
"La hajat lidhalika." Moffitt slung his submachine gun over his shoulder, gesturing for the elder to relax. The man slowly began to lower his hands. "Hal tatakalam bial'iinjiliziati? You speak English?"
"Yes, speak some." The elder's accent was thick, but there was clear understanding in his eyes. "Good for trade."
"Please accept our offer of peace, sir." Pearl smiled again, holding out a canteen of the best wine the supply officers could find and a small box of ripe dates. Back at base, the squad had prepared several of these gift bags, to help smoothen interactions with the locals.
The elder popped one of the dates in his mouth, chewing critically. He nodded in approval, turning away from Pearl and Moffitt to address the crowd who had gathered at the end of the street.
"'Iinahum bikhayr, daeuu albanadiq beydana!" he shouted, in a surprisingly strong voice. Muttering among themselves, the gathering began to break up.
The elder turned back towards Moffitt. "Forgive them. They are good people, but times are hard."
"Perfectly understandable. The war has been hard on us all. How would you like us to address you, sir?"
"You may call me Mehdi. How can I help?"
"Would you do us the honor of inviting us into your home, Mehdi? This is sensitive business, and it would be bad if it reached the wrong ears. I'm sure that everyone here is trustworthy, but better safe than sorry."
"This way." The elder motioned towards the stone hut he had emerged from.
"Pearl, with me," said Moffitt. "The rest of you, stay with the jeeps. We won't be long."
Ducking through the doorway, Pearl let her vision adjust to the darker interior of Mehdi's tidy home. While comparatively spartan by Western standards, the furnishings spoke of good craftsmanship. The pair of divans at the center of the room stood on solid, varnished wood, and the tapestries hanging on the wall were long and elaborate.
Once Pearl, Moffitt, and Mehdi had seated themselves on an ornate rug, a young woman appeared from a back room, bearing a tray with a steaming teapot and a bowl of pistachios. She set it down at the center of the rug, keeping her covered head bowed, but her gaze lingered on Pearl for just long enough to signal curiosity. Before Pearl could say a word in greeting, she silently withdrew to a back room.
"Thank you, Mehdi. The tea smells lovely." Pearl picked up a weathered brass tea cup and took a dainty sip to test the flavor. Surprised at the quality, she took a deeper swig and set the cup down. "Just as good as it smells.
"A woman, in your army." Mehdi continued to stare at her. Unlike the girl who had served them, his gawking was far less subtle. "Does she give you much trouble?"
Pearl saw Moffitt snort into his tea, but he managed to disguise it as a cough. He set down his cup gingerly, careful not to spill anymore of its contents. "For us? None. For the Germans? Plenty of trouble."
"Speaking of the Germans," said Pearl, eager to change topics, "do you have any maps we can purchase? We will pay well for an accurate map of these mountain roads."
"I have never been in need of one, lady soldier." Mehdi shook his head. "These hills have been my family's home for many years. Only outsiders need maps."
"Could you draw us one?" prompted Moffitt hopefully. Reaching into his satchel, he withdrew several folded sheets of dense paper and a few stout pencils. "I assure you, sir, your help will do all of us good. The Germans have been cruel to the people of this land, and I'm sure their war has been bad for your business. If you give us good information, we could have them out of Tunisia in a matter of months, and your trade routes will be open once again."
Mehdi scoffed, crossing his arms. "The Germans do not bother us. One patrol came, several months ago. They bought...trinkets, I believe the word is. Paid for them without bargain, and left. They said they would send the gifts to their families. We have not seen a German here since."
Pearl and Moffitt exchanged a look of surprise glances. The Germans evidently knew of the pass already, but had not exploited it for some reason.
"But what of the people in the valleys below?" asked Moffitt. "They are your brethren too, are they not? The Germans treat them with cruelty. Do you not wish to help them?"
"Everyone who comes here to rule over us, they act as brutes. Rome, the Turks, the French, the Germans. All the same. At least the Germans do not bother this village, as the French dogs did before them." Mehdi slammed his cup down. "You would bring war to my people. Your tanks will tear up our roads, your planes will frighten our livestock, your shells will rain down all around. And for what? To remove one conqueror and replace him with the last."
"Please, sir." Moffitt placed a small stack of British pounds on top of the drawing materials. "We will compensate you well for whatever material losses you suffer. Take this as proof of our goodwill."
Mehdi heaved a deep sigh, pushing away the money and the folded sheets of paper. "You are free to wander these lands as you please, Englishman. We would not be able to stop you, even if we wanted. Your Army will come through to disturb our peace, and we will be caught in the middle of your war. That we cannot stop as well. But I will not help you in doing it."
"Very well," said Moffitt, gathering up the papers from the rug. "I am sorry that we weren't able to come to an agreement. Thank you for your hospitality, Mehdi."
"And for your kind gift." Mehdi patted the canteen of wine by his side.
Mehdi stood. Moffitt and Pearl rose to her feet to join him. "I promise you this, sir," she said."We will not harm your village, so long as your people do not impede the movement of our troops."
"Lady soldier, you know you cannot make such a promise. Not when you say in the same breath that you will turn this land into a battlefield." Mehdi's face was grave as he motioned to the door. "My daughter Haila will see you out."
"Let's go, Pearl." With a defeated shake of the head, Moffitt marched to the door. Pearl went to follow him, filing past the young woman standing subserviently by the doorway.
"Thank you for the tea, Haila." Pearl smiled at her politely, as she replaced her helmet and secured the chin strap. She stepped outside, squinting in the bright late morning sun, and began walking back towards the street. Moffitt had already reached the jeeps, and Pearl could see the frustration in James and Frank's faces as he explained the situation.
"Lady soldier! Lady soldier!" murmured a voice, hushed but insistent.
Pearl turned. Haila was still standing by the door, beckoning to her. Cautiously, Pearl retraced her steps. "Can I help you?"
The young woman cautiously glanced around, watching for onlookers, then hurriedly reached into the folds of her long robe. Instinctively, Pearl's hand dropped towards her pistol holster, but Haila only came out with two coarse rolls of parchment. She pushed them into Pearl's arms and quickly began to back away.
"Haila, wait," Pearl whispered back. "What is this?"
"My father is a fool not to help you. Please, you cannot let him know that I gave you this. I must go now, before he asks where I have gone."
"But why—?"
Haila retreated back into her home, pulling the door shut. Pearl heard the bolt slide across, and she was faced with nothing but the rough wood of Mehdi's front door.
"Pearl, where the hell are you?" yelled Moffitt from the jeep.
"Here, Captain." Pearl rushed over, careful to keep the rolls of parchment close to her chest. Her caution was unnecessary. A quick glance across the street at Mehdi's house showed no watching eyes from the windows or the roof.
"What was that all about?" demanded Moffitt. "And where did you get those papers?"
"Just a concerned citizen, sir. Now, let's get moving before Mehdi notices these are missing."
000 END CHAPTER 29 part 1 of 2
History Notes
SAS in 1942 and 1943
The SAS conducted multiple airfield raids against German supply airfields. The British navy controlled the sea so the Germans had to import much of their priority supplies by airlift. The SAS made it their business to wreck as many aircraft, especially transports, and kill pilots to stifle this supply chain.
"Dumme Evolutionsbremse"
German insult that basically implies that the subject did not evolve to a higher level of intelligence and so remains as stupid and primitve as un-evolved animals.
"Schöne Frau"
German for "Pretty Woman" or something like that.
Fairbairn Knife
The Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife is a double-edged fighting knife resembling a dagger or poignard with a foil grip. It was developed by William Ewart Fairbairn and Eric Anthony Sykes in Shanghai based on ideas that the two men had while serving on the Shanghai Municipal Police in China before World War II. The F-S fighting knife was made famous during World War II when issued to British Commandos, the Airborne Forces, the SAS and many other units, especially for the Normandy landings in June 1944.
Corporal Hans-Ekkehard Bob
From Chapter 12 in the Poland campaign and 18 in the Dyle Line battle. Semi fictional German fighter pilot who bombed positions outside Poznan and later
Toujane Tunisia.
The Berber village the squad visits while scouting out the mountain pass the LRDG had found earlier. The town also shows up in the video game "Call of duty 2" during the North Africa WW2 campaign.