Chapter 30: Delenda Part 2 of 2. End of the North Africa campaign. Warning Reader skip warning about 2/3 of the way through.

"You okay there, love? You seem a little...er, tense."

Medenine, Tunisia — March 7th

The newborn sun sat on the horizon, setting the undulating banks of fog in the distance aglow in a bright halo over the golden brown sand. The sky shone in vivid color, deep purple brightening into orange as it stretched towards the ground. A few wisps of cloud drifted on the cool breeze, little islands in the vast expanse.

From behind the reinforced rock wall of the squad's observation post, Pearl gazed out into the landscape below, determined to commit it to memory. It was a beautiful day, far too beautiful for the ugly business that had brought them here.

"Pretty, isn't it?" James leaned on the wall, stirring her from her thoughts. He settled into his position for the long day ahead.

"Calm before the storm. It's so lovely out there that I could almost forget all the panzers hiding under that fog."

"Oi, Frank!" James' head snapped around to where the squad's jeep was parked. Frank sat at the back seat, studying a map which he had spread across the bench. A radio handset lay on his lap. The vehicle had a powerful radio and a large whip antenna mounted for long-range communication, which Moffitt and Tully were currently wrestling with as they attempted to find the best reception from the divisional artillery battery on the opposite end of the line.

"What is it?" asked Frank.

"Have you got your camera with you today?"

"Yeah. What for?"

"Get a picture, won't you? Who knows when the hell we'll get to see this kind of sunrise again."

"All right. Make it count, both of you. This is the only time I'm going to waste my color film on your ugly faces."

Reaching into his bag, Frank pulled out a weathered, but functional camera. James and Pearl took their positions, putting up bright smiles, and the bulb fired a quick flash. Frank shot off a few more pictures, then brushed the dust from the worn case.

"Done," he announced, slipping the camera back into his bag. "I'll develop the film as soon as we get back to—"

SSSSHHHHRRRRRIIIIIMMM!

"Incoming!" Pearl yelled. Grabbing two handfuls of his uniform, she dragged James behind the wall. Moffitt and Tully jumped down from the jeep, dropping into a shallow foxhole they had dug just in front of the fender.

"Oh, Christ!" Caught between the two, Frank flung himself to the ground, flattening himself to the sand. He looked up at the jeep, desperately staring at the helmet he had left on the back seat. Seizing the camera bag which had fallen beside him, he held it over his head.

Pearl's hearing went blank, replaced by a high-pitched ringing. The earth shuddered underfoot, nearly throwing her and James sideways. A scant few yards from the wall, a vast bloom of dust and rock erupted into the air. She clutched at her head, wincing as the pain radiated through her system.

Several more shells pounded the ridgeline, throwing up dirt and grit, but the impacts were gradually moving north, tracking away from the squad's post along the southern end of the defensive line.

"—was close, bloody hell," exclaimed a voice, growing louder as the ringing slowly died down. James was peaking over the wall, where a deep, blackened crater had been blasted not a stone's throw away. Reaching down, he pulled Pearl back to her feet.

She looked around. The others were likewise dusting themselves off and getting into position. "One, two, three, four. Good, you're all accounted for."

James grinned savagely. "Wouldn't it be funny if we all got wiped out right there, after what you said back at camp?"

"Don't joke about that." scolded Pearl, crouching down to look through the spotting scope.

Spread out across the desert planes to the west were dozens of silvery specks, each one kicking up a long plume of dust in its wake. Every single one was an enemy vehicle of some kind or another, and they were all bearing down upon the British line.

"Looks like Rommel's attacking in force," observed Pearl, retreating from the scope to jot down a few notes. "We're in for a busy day."

A distant screech interrupted her halfway through a range calculation, the sound of an incoming round ripping through the air towards them.

"Down!" roared Moffitt, ducking behind the jeep. Everyone else scrambled for shelter. Finally reunited with his helmet, Frank dove into the foxhole beside Tully.

The shell landed long, slamming into the craggy reverse slope behind them with a roar which echoed off the rocks. Close, but not close enough to be a problem.

Pearl bent down to pick up her clipboard. She carefully brushed the grit from the paper, still covered in her notes, and reached for her pencil. It slipped from her grasp, plunging like an arrow back into the soft ground. Muttering a curse, she knelt down to pick it up, rooting through the sand. Her fingers closed around the pencil, but as she raised her arm, it tumbled from her hand once again.

Another shell whooshed overhead, detonating against the rear slope. Bits of rock rained down on their heads, bouncing off Pearl's helmet and stinging her face. She ignored it, focusing on the stubborn little stick of graphite half-buried in the warm sand. Making another grab for it, she only succeeded in pushing it deeper.

Pearl held her hand up in front of her face. It was shaking uncontrollably, and only now did she realize the tremors which passed up and down the length of her arm. She balled her hand into a fist, furiously trying to will her fingers back under control.

Reaching into the ground, she pulled up a handful of sand, slowly sifting through the clump until she found the pencil. Unwilling to trust herself with writing, she stuffed it into her breast pocket and straightened up, looking around to see if the others had noticed. Mercifully, all of them had been too busy.

"Battery One-Five-Three, this is Brimstone," stated Frank into his handset. "Fire mission. Grid, Freddy-Two advancing to Freddy-Three at six miles. Panzers and motorized infantry, regimental strength."

Looking towards the indicated grid, Pearl frowned deeply. The friendly artillery plunging down from above had missed the lead German elements completely, landing well to the rear of the wave of tanks and halftracks still tearing their way towards the line.

She marched over to the jeep. Frank glanced up from his work in surprise, but Pearl paid his confused expression no regard. Instead, she leaned over his shoulder to read his notes.

"What the hell are you—?" he sputtered.

"Your math is bad." She had been so used to paper and pencil that her mental calculations were rusty. It took her a full thirty seconds to work everything out. "You failed to account for wind and air temperature. You're off by two degrees."

Frank reached for the handset. "Battery One-Five-Three, this is Brimstone. Adjust fire... "

"You're welcome." Pearl stalked off, heading back to the wall.

"Bellend," muttered Frank under his breath, covering the microphone with his hand. Pearl shot him a glare before turning back to her scope.

A salvo of twenty-five-pound high explosive shells pummeled the advancing German column. One of them fireballed from a direct hit, exploding into a storm of flaming spall. Immobilized by damaged tracks, a couple more jerked to a halt, grinding sideways into the sand.

"Eat that, Jerry," chuckled James, but his confident smirk turned to a frown when several of the heavier tanks emerged from the chaos, seemingly unscathed. The foremost panzers were already in range of the line, and smoke erupted from their gun barrels as tank rounds joined the fight.

Pearl slammed her fist against the base of the wall, opening a web of cracks across the stone. The cannons were on target, but their shots were too spread out.

"Frank!" She jumped to her feet, storming back towards the jeep. "Tighten the fire concentration! Do it now!"

"Eh?" Frank covered the handset again at the interruption.

She grabbed it from him. "Brimstone to Battery One-Five-Three, adjust fire. Concentration Cork. Drop three, right one, fire for effect!"

"I have eyes of my own," snapped Frank, tugging the handset back from her. "I was about to call a correction before you snatched the phone."

"Well, be quicker about it next time. " She threw a dismissive gesture over her shoulder.

"Fuck off," he shot back.

Pearl would have let it go, but as she turned back towards the wall, she saw James lock eyes with Frank. He subtly shook his head, mouthing something to his friend. Frank silently flung his hands up in frustration, sighed, and returned to his map and radio.

"And what are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Frank growled. "Why don't you get back to work?"

Pearl rounded on James. "Anything you want to say to me?"

"Christ, P, I was just telling him to cool off. We know you're under a lot of strain. I just don't think it's right for you to take it out on us."

"Where did your bollocks go?" Frank snapped at James, then turned his glare towards Pearl. "What your little boyfriend meant to say is that I'm not taking any shite from you. Not now."

"You called in a bad fire mission, and I had to fix your error. I told you to send a correction, and you dawdled over it. You're a grown man, not a child, and I'm not your nanny. It's not my job to pat you on the head and encourage you when you make a mistake."

"Oh, come off it. I was about to call a correction when you stuck your nose in my face. Just because I don't have a slide rule in my head—"

"Every second matters. Who do you think is paying for your little mistake? " Pearl jabbed a finger north, pointing across the line. In the distance and over the horizon sat thousands of men, dug in against the German storm.

"Take it, then." Frank stretched out the handset to her, pulling the radio wire taut. He bared his teeth in an ugly, mirthless smile. "Isn't this what you wanted? Go forth and pour fire and brimstone on their heads, o angel of death."

Muffled footsteps grew closer to them, boots scraping angrily against the sand. Moffitt appeared between them, face pale with scarcely restrained frustration.

"Both of you, shut your mouths!" he exploded. "You're the most experienced squad in the unit, and you're bickering like goddamned children!"

"Is that an order?" asked Frank sullenly.

"Of course it's a fucking order. Do I look like I'm in the business of making requests?"

"Captain," protested Pearl, "You can't let him keep giving the artillery poor directions!"

"He was doing fine until you decided to get in his face." Moffitt sighed. "Look, I don't care if you're God's own bloody archangel of death. Sit your arse down by the wall and don't move unless you get shot at. Wilson, stay on the line with the arty and sort your spotting out. Go on, you've wasted enough time as it is."

Sharing one last evil glare, Pearl and Frank parted. James looked worriedly over at her as she stomped back towards the wall, but she dropped down beside him without a word. He could swear her eyes were faintly glowing blue as she resumed her place at the scope.

The battle below had continued to rage on without them. The enemy armored units were now fully engaged, trading a withering storm of fire with the assortment of Allied armored vehicles and anti-tank guns dug in across the high ground. Tracers swept the ridge, and shells carved deep gashes into the dirt as the gunners zeroed in on each other.

It was the Germans who were getting the worst of it. Faced by far stiffer resistance than expected, even the vaunted Tigers and tank destroyers had bogged down under the vicious fire, surrounded by the gutted wreckage of the lighter panzers.

"Battery One-Five-Three, this is Brimstone. Fire mission. Grid, Freddie-Two, on the hill, same target group. Left three, drop four, fire for effect!"

A minute later, Frank pumped his fist in the air, and Tully whooped. The shells from the divisional battery came crashing down, landing in the midst of the panzers. The enemy fire slowly began to diminish as their offensive fist became a retreat, and then soon a full-on rout.

The panzers shot off smoke grenades, blanketing their positions in a thick curtain of white haze which obscured them from the British above. Throwing themselves into reverse gear, they slowly began to back away, harassed by artillery and blind anti-tank fire every yard of the way.

Halfway out of range, the Germans stumbled into another nasty surprise. Several British tank platoons had gone on a pincer maneuver a few hours before, taking the long way through the mountain pass to emerge right on the Germans' flank. Too late to make their mark on the battle, the Sherman and Crusader crews were nonetheless determined to rack up their own tally.

Caught broadside at close range, the panzers never stood a chance. The British cannon picked them apart at will, and the few lucky enough to survive the ambush were hounded back over the western horizon by the speedy Allied armor.

Though it seemed that they had been sitting atop the ridge for days upon days, it was scarcely midmorning when the guns finally fell silent. The sun-kissed sand was now pitted with charred impact craters and the hulks of destroyed vehicles, lying in pools of flaming diesel and piles of shredded steel.

Pearl slumped against the wall in exhaustion, rubbing her temples. She could feel the beginning of a headache beginning to pound behind her eyes. Reaching into her pocket, she found a cigarette and lit up.

"You okay there, love? You seem a little...er, tense."

"James, I'm fine." Pearl blew out the acrid smoke and closed her eyes. "I'm just tired."

"You're not fine. You just started a fight with Frank for no good reason. He was going to correct that fire mission, and you know it." He reached over, placing an arm around her shoulders . "Please, Pearl, talk to me."

She shrugged his arm away, leaning away from his touch. "Not now, James. Just let me be."

"Mount up!" ordered Moffitt. "Let's get the hell out of this place."

Pearl stood, folding the tripod of the spotting scope and hefting the assembly onto her shoulder. She trudged towards the jeep, leaving James and his look of concern behind in the dust.

Besides the scope, there wasn't much else to load back into their vehicle. The spare ammunition was still stacked in the trunk, unneeded—the squad hadn't fired a shot of their own all morning. Inside the jeep, Frank was carefully coiling up the radio wire, still refusing to look in her direction.

"When we get back to camp," said Moffitt, "everyone is going through the shower tents. The gear goes to the quartermaster for servicing."

"We have time for cleaning, sir?" asked James. "Won't Monty want to press Fritz after we beat them today?"

"I'm putting us all in for a proper rest rotation. This squad has been in continuous action for months. If we don't get a break soon, we'll all tear each other apart. Christ, Pearl and Wilson were at each other's throats, and you three have been fighting together for ages."

Tully turned the ignition key, and the jeep coughed to life to begin the bumpy ride back down to less hostile land. He accelerated, leaving the jagged line of the ridge far in their dusty wake.

In the back seat, Frank loosened the straps of his bag, pulling out his camera for a quick examination. What he saw made his breath catch in his lungs. His hands began to shake violently, and it dropped onto his lap. A single shell fragment had bored a hole through the camera's metal exterior, embedding itself deep inside.

~{0}~

Matmata Hills, Tunisia — March 22nd

The crescent moon cast a dim light across the mountain roads, throwing deep shadows across the rocky land. In the darkness lurked treacherous dropoffs and jagged cliffs, invisible to all but those who knew the safe path through.

Across this landscape rolled a column of armored vehicles, straining to navigate the narrow road which led deeper into the steep hills. Though the way forward was dark, none dared to slow down. If they were to outflank the German defensive line to their east, they needed to move quickly.

At the height of the mountain pass, the tanks and personnel carriers rumbled through a small village. The locals peered out from windows and doorways as the imposing force lumbered through their quiet home, engines growling and wheels clanking. The tracks ripped gravel from the rough road, kicking up a cloud of dust and grit, and their exhaust pipes sent up plumes of choking diesel smoke.

From his station on the roof of his home, Mehdi scowled down at the Englishmen. Striding to the parapet wall, he leaned over the rail and spat a mouthful of tobacco juice at a departing Crusader tank. The steel beast made no response to the contemptuous gesture, continuing west down the narrow street.

Little did he know that ten feet and a single floor beneath him, his daughter was also awake. Sitting at her window, she watched the long line of vehicles slowly wind their way to the end of the village and disappear into the darkness beyond. Below her breath, she whispered a quiet prayer, hoping that this war would soon leave their land.

~{0}~

Ghannouch, Tunisia — April 4th

With heavy casualties from the failed counterattack at Medenine, and their flanks exposed by the British hook through the mountains, the Germans and Italians had withdrawn from their strong defensive position at Mareth, hurrying north to locate a new place to anchor their line.

The SAS had been sent into the newfound gap, probing ahead of the cautiously-advancing main force to locate any hidden pockets of resistance which could have been left behind by the retreating Axis forces. Pearl's team had been placed on the right flank, hugging the Mediterranean coast as they drove north.

It was an unnervingly quiet few days as they rolled from town to town, expecting contact with the enemy but finding none. Instead, they saw dirt roads dotted with craters, abandoned vehicles laden with bullet holes, and shallow graves under the freshly-turned sand. With the Luftwaffe's influence waning with every passing day, the Desert Air Force had harassed the retreating Axis troops with near-impunity, raining rockets, bombs, and cannon fire on the troop convoys.

There was another presence which they had come up against, one which was far less tangible. After a few days, all of them had slowly become accustomed to the constant feeling of being watched, a cold, persistent chill at the base of the spine which never truly went away, even when they lay down to sleep.

Eyes were everywhere, suspicious ones peeking out from every street corner and window, and from behind the rocks and dunes. Even the Bedouin herders out in the desert, normally indifferent to the multitude of conquerors who had come and gone through the desolate land for three thousand years, regarded the SAS team with evident distrust as they rumbled by in their jeep.

It was almost enough to make them wish for a brush with the Germans. At least then, they would be able to bleed off the tension through action, doing what they did best. Instead, the cold and eerie silence only helped build the deep unease which had settled in across the days of exploration.

On the third day of the reconnaissance mission, the squad found themselves outside Ghannouch, a trading commune on the sea. The road out of town had bent inland, taking them away from the glittering waters of the Mediterranean and deeper into the more fertile coastal plain which served as the country's breadbasket.

On Moffitt's orders, Tully had pulled the jeep off the side of the road. James climbed onto the fifty-caliber mount, swinging the heavy machine gun across to bear. The rest of the squad dismounted, dropping into the rough grass.

About three kilometers ahead sat a large compound, blockish and low to the ground. It had been built from wood and concrete brick along angular and rigid lines, a brutish, alien sight in a land of elegant sandstone and graceful architecture. Clearly a military facility of some sort, and one constructed to the precise dimensions of some German field engineering manual.

"What the hell is it?" asked Moffitt, shielding his eyes against the sun. "Some sort of command center?"

Pearl swept the compound's perimeter with her binoculars. It was ringed with tall chain-link fences all the way around, and coils of barbed wire ran fifty yards from both sides of the front gate, reducing the only pathway in and out of the compound to a narrow, single-file lane.

Looking past the perimeter, she scanned the interior of the compound itself. Guard towers at each corner, wooden barracks along the center, small, stubby concrete buildings sticking out from the ground like dirty teeth.

"Looks like a prison camp, Captain," she concluded.

Moffitt scowled, scrawling down the precise location on his map. "Christ. Could be our boys in there."

"Place must be crawling with Jerries." James squinted at the compound from his post at the heavy machine gun. "They're bound to defend a facility like that."

"No." Pearl shook her head. "Looks abandoned to me. Nothing's moving out there."

"Something's not right, " Frank muttered, echoing everyone else's unspoken thoughts.

"Let's check it out," decided Moffitt, motioning the squad back into the jeep. They quietly piled in, though everybody was careful to check their weapons in case of sudden contact.

As Pearl settled into the rear bench, the light breeze shifted. At first, the smell was faint, nearly imperceptible beneath the reek of gasoline exhaust and gun oil, but as the wind continued to drift in from the north, it began to build until it was oppressively unmistakable.

Borne on the cool sea breeze was a dark, soggy stench, the kind that lingered in the mind long after it had departed the senses, a cursed portent of the deepest cruelty man was capable of. And for Pearl, it was one she was much too familiar with.

~{0}~ Reader skip warning

The smell was worse up close, far worse. But as bad as it was, it paled in comparison to what lay in front of her.

Bodies. They lay facedown at the bottom of a deep pit which had been hacked into the soil at the center of the camp. Under the merciless African sun, they had bloated and disfigured, slowly melting into the dirt. Flies swirled over the pit, a pervasive cloud of decay and despair.

Pearl's legs failed her. She sagged against the chain-link fence, sight blurred by the hot tears running down her face. Revulsion rolled through her in crashing waves, but she couldn't pull herself away. Looking from body to body, she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Half-shut eyes stared back, belonging to the blackened, discolored face of a young girl.

"Don't look." James placed a hand on her shoulder. "Focus on me, Pearl."

Slowly, Pearl turned towards him. His lip trembled and his cheeks glistened with tears, but he stood straight and set his jaw. For her.

"Come on, let's go." The encouragement in his voice was shaky at best, but she knew he was barely holding it together as it was. He carefully lifted her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her thin body to keep her upright. "Just like before, P. Focus on my heartbeat, listen to my breathing."

Together, they hobbled on shaky legs away from the camp perimeter. She whimpered, burying her face in his side, but allowed him to shepherd her back towards their vehicle.

At the jeep, Pearl sluggishly crawled into the back and curled up as tightly as she could. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think of happier times. But try as she might, her memories were drowned out by the all-pervasive stench of death.

~{0}~

Moffitt stripped off his gas mask, revealing his haggard, sweat-streaked face. He drew his sleeve across his brow and leaned wearily against the hood of the jeep, fumbling for the carton of cigarettes in his breast pocket.

The other two followed behind him, guiding an unfamiliar figure through the gate and down the barbed wire-lined path. Between Frank's razor-sharp bayonet a scant few inches from his back and Tully unceremoniously dragging him by the front of his grimy white robe, the man stumbled along without much resistance. His own stained keffiyeh was drawn down over his eyes.

"She going to be okay?" Moffitt looked over to the back bench, where Pearl had curled up. There was concern, definite concern, in his normally calm expression.

"In time, yes." replied James, sliding into the seat next to her. "Survivors?"

"None." Moffitt struck a match to light his cigarette, but it slipped from his grasp and landed between his boots. "Nothing alive in there but rats and flies. And a local helping himself to supplies from the guard barracks."

"I don't get it, sir. Why would the Germans do something like this? I know they have it in for Jews, but... " words failed James, and he gestured weakly at the compound.

"It's a camp for forced laborers, Appleby." Moffitt finally lit his cigarette, gratefully raising it to his lips. "Our man over there says that the SS had been going from town to town for several months now, rounding up undesirables. Mostly Jews, but also dissidents, known critics of the Vichy government."

"Laborers, sir? Like for factories?"

"Construction. If the Germans needed something built, they'd load some prisoners into trucks and drive them over to the site. I suppose they'd work them like dogs at gunpoint, then bring them back here. The ones who survived the day, at least. From what I understand, a lot of these poor souls were at Mareth, putting up bunkers and MG nests. Easier that way for the Germans. No need to pull fighting men off the line and tire them out when you've got slave labor to do it for you."

Not for the first time today, James found himself struggling to suppress the overwhelming swell of nausea within him, fighting to keep down the bile slowly rising to his throat. "So when we breached the Mareth Line...?"

Moffitt gravely shook his head. "The Germans couldn't take the prisoners with them, or leave them alive for us to stumble across. So they...they liquidated them. Made them dig their own grave, then lined them up at the edge and shot them."

"Captain?" Frank called out, voice muffled by his gas mask. Moffitt turned. The other two were still guarding their prisoner, who sat on the dirt between them. "What do we do with him?"

Moffitt took a moment to decide. "Turn him loose, and let him keep his loot. Not like we need any of it, anyway. If he was poking around in this place, he must be desperate."

Tully leaned down to peel the makeshift blindfold from the man's eyes. Frank prodded the prisoner, motioning with his bayonet. The man jerked upright, grabbed the burlap sack on the ground beside him, and hurried off. His footprints tracked back southeast.

"Where does that leave us, sir?" asked James.

"Radio says we have recon elements from the Armored Corps about an hour south of us, headed up as we speak. That was about thirty minutes ago, so we just need to wait half an hour for them to take over."

"And then what?" A tinge of anger had crept into James' voice, which Moffitt had picked up on.

"Look, it's not up to us to punish those bastards. That's for the boys with tanks, bombs, and artillery. If we want to help them do that, then we continue with our jobs." Moffitt finished his cigarette, grinding it into the dirt with the sole of his boot. "We still have a couple of towns ahead of us to check out. Then we go home and make our reports."

8th Army HQ, Gabes, Tunisia

It was well into the evening when the squad finally arrived back at base, drained in body and in spirit. A day long and difficult, yet hollow, fruitless.

They had neither failed nor succeeded at what they had been sent out to do. They had located no Germans in their sector, nor fought any enemy stragglers. Their weapons lay unfired, still weighted with the same ammunition they had loaded at the break of dawn.

All this, to confirm something which Intelligence had known for weeks. The Germans had long since abandoned the area, allowing the 8th Army a free run at their new line along the rough and hilly Wadi Akarit. The war was once again out of the squad's hands, condemned to that restive, uncertain wait for the next time they were again called upon.

The only tangible legacy of their arduous day was the camp, that wretched pit of human despair which was a curse on the land it stood upon. Even then, their discovery was nearly inconsequential. They had arrived days, even weeks, too late to save any of the prisoners. Ultimately, that was the only thing which truly mattered. Had it been a regular army unit in their stead who had stumbled across the camp while on the long road to Akarit, it would not have made a whit of difference.

After returning their dirt-caked vehicle to the motor pool, the squad had gone to make their report to the intelligence men, a rigorous, time-consuming debriefing. By the time it was over, the showers had long since run cold and the kitchens had nearly closed.

When they finally staggered back to the yurt, all of them could barely stand on their two feet. Pushing aside the entry flap, they found Moffitt seated at the table, his nose buried in a briefing file. He was still grimy from the day's work, and a half-forgotten mug of soup steamed on the tabletop in front of him.

"You should go get cleaned up, sir." said James, easing his sore body down onto his cot. Pearl sat down next to him, holding a small ceramic bottle. Tipping its contents into her hand, she began applying it to his bruised shoulder.

"I'll take my turn at the showers soon, but I've got some pressing business to attend to. Concerns us all, actually." Moffitt took a sip from his mug and returned to his notes.

James groaned in satisfaction as Pearl continued to rub the lotion into his skin. Some of the weariness began to melt from his face, and he slowly relaxed into his mattress.

"Oi, Pearl, what is that stuff?" asked Frank, curiously watching on from his bunk.

"It's a healing salve. Us Gems have our rough days too." She smiled faintly at the brief flicker of memories in her mind's eye. "It's most potent when we use it on ourselves, but it works on humans, too."

"Can I have some?" Frank stuck his hand out, palm up in mock supplication.

"As long as you put in on yourself. I'm not going over there to give you a rub-down." Pearl tossed it across the room with a precise underhand throw. Frank reared up, deftly snatching it from the air.

"Cheers."

"Save some for the others. Trust me, a little goes a long way."

"Right, lads, listen up." Finally finished with his briefing documents, Moffitt threw back his chair and cast a glance around the room. The rest of the squad had already settled in their beds, for the exception of Pearl, who still sat on James' cot. "We've just got new orders sent down, straight from Command."

From his top bunk, Tully groaned. "Are they throwing us in at Akarit, sir? I thought the regulars could handle it?"

"No, nothing like that. In fact, they don't want us here at all. Intel says that the Germans are basically spent, and the next couple months will just be a mopping-up action for the regulars. Command wants to reallocate resources for the next campaign." Moffitt held up a document, waving it demonstratively. "They're pulling us off the line and sending us back east to Egypt. We've got three weeks of full rest, then we report to Sidi Barrani for two months of refresher training."

"Refresher training?" repeated Frank. "What for?"

Moffitt squinted at the page in his hand. "Aerial insertion, infiltration, and sabotage. Looks like we're going to be airdropped somewhere behind Jerry's lines. Any of you ever made a combat jump before?"

"We did, sir," said Pearl. "But it was a very long time ago. It wasn't an organized operation, either. We were pressed for time and had to improvise."

"I've never done one. In training, plenty of times, but not in combat. How did yours go?"

Pearl exchanged a long, meaningful look with James and Frank before answering. "It wasn't a good day, sir."

"Where are they sending us?" James asked.

"Didn't specify." Moffitt frowned, shutting the folder with a snap. "Classified, no doubt."

"Must be pretty bloody dangerous, if we're going to need all that retraining," Tully observed.

"Get a good night's sleep. Truck comes at noon to pick us up. " Moffitt gathered up his files, holding them under one arm as he rummaged through his case for a clean set of clothing. "I'm going to the showers. Maybe it'll clean off the smell of that godforsaken place. Don't wait up for me."

With that, he lifted his gas lantern from the table and stepped out into the night, leaving the flap swishing behind him.

"I don't know about you, lads, but when we hit Cairo, I'm going off to get smashed."

With that pronouncement, Tully rolled over onto his side, and the rickety bunk creaked in protest. Below him, Frank was already snoring, having fallen asleep without even bothering to pull his blanket up against the cool spring air.

"Good night, James." Pearl laid a kiss on his forehead and rose from his bedside, swinging herself up the ladder and into her bunk.

~{0}~

Midnight had come and long since passed, but sleep still eluded her. In a way, she was grateful. Sleep meant losing control of her thoughts, and there was no telling what her mind would torment her with next. Not after the day she'd just had.

Pearl had been cocooned in her blankets for hours now, like a corpse wrapped in a shroud. Staring up at the cloth, she began to wonder how long it was to dawn. Her only wristwatch set to local time had come unwound, and she didn't feel like disturbing the others' hard-earned sleep by getting up to check theirs.

She had just begun to toy with the idea of sneaking one of Tully's dime novels out of his bag and making off with it to read by moonlight —better to do something, anything, than to be alone with the thoughts she was fighting to keep from the forefront of her consciousness—when she noticed that she wasn't alone. It was nearly imperceptible, but the breathing from the bunk below her had ever so slightly quickened. Someone had emerged from a fitful bout of sleep.

"James?" she murmured.

He shifted in his bed, now wide awake. The mattress springs groaned. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"No, no. I couldn't sleep."

Pearl could see the crown of James' head bobbing up and down as he rolled out of bed. Brushing the loose hair from her eyes, she pulled herself into a cross-legged sitting position to meet him. He leaned against the metal frame, letting his arms hang wearily on the railing of her bunk.

"I've been thinking..." he hesitated, as if he had just begun to doubt what he was going to say next.

"Yes, James?"

He took a deep breath and forged on. "I snuck a look at Moffitt's files the other day. You know how he always leaves them around? Well, apparently you're not officially part of the Army."

She remembered that morning in London with Jack Churchill, far away and long ago. "No, I'm not. The recruiting office decided to keep me off the books when they didn't submit the paperwork."

"You're a ghost. There's no record of you in some Army office somewhere, or a registration number that can be tracked down. You don't even wear dog tags."

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say."

James swallowed nervously. "If you want to go home, I'd understand. As for the others, I'm sure I can get them to come round when you've gone. There's no better opportunity to do it than in Cairo. You're resourceful. Get aboard a ship to Southampton, or maybe charm your way onto a transport flight back to London. It'll be damned difficult to catch you, and even harder to try you as a deserter."

The magnitude of his suggestion seemed to have taken away her voice. She stared at him openmouthed.

"You're the strongest of us," he went on, buoyed by her silence. "Better than any hundred men in this war put together. But you've been bearing the world on your shoulders for nearly four years. I want to see you safely home before you reach breaking point."

"I don't ever want to hear you talk about this. Not now, not in the future. Never again." The bitter edge in her voice even surprised her. He looked back at her in fear, shaken to the core by the withering look which burned in her eyes. "Don't even let that idea cross your mind a second time. Do you understand me?"

I'm worried about you, P—"

"Oh, it's not me you should be worried for. The ones that need your worry don't deserve it, anyway." She laughed discordantly, totally devoid of levity. "The last time I saw casual brutality like that, against living beings so helpless, was thousands of years ago. Homeworld liked to drain entire planets of life for their natural resources. They tried to do the same to Earth. So we fought them, outnumbered a hundred to one, for a millennium. And now you want me to leave all this behind? Do you really think that little of me?"

James visibly recoiled, staring down at the floor.

"I've come too far and lost too much to give up now. Darren, George, Adelajda, the people in that camp. I owe it to them to see this through. I'll bring hell on Earth to the Reich, and all those who serve it."

He remained silent, and the worry lines etched into his face only deepened as he met her eyes again. Finally, he closed his eyes and breathed out a deep sigh, reaching out his hand to her.

"I've got your back, Pearl. We all do. We'll see it through together."

Pearl cracked a small smile in relief. She took his hand, feeling the warmth emanating from him.

"Thank you."

End chapter 29

Delenda
Thank you Rodsantos for chapter name suggestion. It has two meanings
* A reference to Cato's famous quote "Carthago delenda est", or "Carthage must be destroyed". Seeing as the chapter's entirely set in Tunisia, where Carthage used to be, I think it sounds cool.
* "Delenda" has an archaic definition in English as "thing(s) which must be removed/deleted".

Battle of Mareth
This was the last major offensive of the Germans in North Africa against the British army. The British had advance warning of the attack and a rough estimate of when and where it would happen. After a mad rush to bring reinforcements and setup a flanking maneuver the British were ready. When the German's finally attacked they were met with overwhelming artillery fire from long range, and blocked by layers of deeply dug-in infantry supported by multiple tank divisions. In short, the German attack was smashed by overwhelming firepower to which the German's had no answer.

Battle of Mareth "Left hook" maneuver. In early January 1943, a LRDG patrol had found a pass into the Jebel Dahar, which was given the name Wilder's Gap. A later patrol penetrated to the Tebaga Gap and proved that the route was practicable. The patrol demonstrated the weakness of Axis defences by going further north to Gafsa, and on 2 February, made contact with the First Army advancing from the west

Concentration and work camps in Tunisia
I almost did not put this in the story, it was tempting to leave it out until I read up on it as part of research for this chapter but in the end it was too important to skip over.

Contrary to popular belief the North Africa campaign was not a battle of honorable leaders and chivalry. It was brutal, often stagnant with both sides setting up layered defensive lines, and often the local population was caught in the crossfire. What didn't get reported much was the persecution of Jews in the North African lands just as they were persecuted in Europe. Jews in North Africa were made to wear the yellow star, rounded up, and put in work camps with many deported to Europe to the primary concentration camps for extermination.

The following is an excerpt from Wikipedia on the topic "Jews outside Europe under Axis occupation"

In November 1942 Nazi Germany occupied French Tunisia for six months, until May 1943. SS Oberstrumbannführer Walter Rauff, a brutal and notorious killer involved in the development of death gas vans and the Final Solution in Eastern Europe, was posted as commander of Tunis. From July 1942 until May 1943, he headed an Einsatzkommando to take care of the Jewish Question in Tunisia, and to continue to implement the Final Solution in Vichy-Tunisia.