We don't stop moving for hours. The sun rises higher and higher to its zenith and the temperature climbs to what must be well over one-hundred degrees. I feel the heat radiate off the sands below me and cook me from two directions at once. The rough, earthy smell of the camels is nauseating in this heat, but slowly I find myself adjusting to it. I'm glad that Khalid had the foresight to give me this headscarf before we left or I would have probably passed out by now. It serves two purposes. First, even in the hot, searing breeze, the fabric cools my head as it soaks with sweat and then dries in an endlessly repeating cycle. Second, it helps to shield my nose from the damn stench of the camels.
Casually, I find myself looking around to see if Khalid and his men are suffering as much as I am, but of course, they're not. They've grown up in this hostile place and it's become a part of them. I'm just grateful that they decided to come with me. I doubt I would have made it five miles without their help. The sand dunes stretch out in every direction around until they meet the clear blue sky on the horizon. The vast, wide-open nothingness of this place is incredibly disorienting, but somehow, the tribesmen never seem to falter in their sense of direction.
My backside is growing numb from being in this saddle. I shift my weight slightly to one side to even out the circulation when I suddenly feel an intense burning pain in my arm.
"Ow!" I shout out loudly as Khalid looks back to me.
"What is it? What's wrong?" he asks concerned.
"I don't know," I say in a daze as I grasp at my arm. It's only then I realize what touched my skin…it was the rifle slung across my back. After sitting in the direct sun since dawn, the metal has become hot enough to raise blisters. Carefully, I peel the weapon off my body and grab my water skin. I drizzle some liquid on the receiver to cool it down. As soon as the drops hit the metal, they actually sizzle into steam.
"I wouldn't waste that if I were you," Khalid says in a parental tone. "You need to drink, your rifle does not. There is nothing until we reach an oasis a few miles short of the pirate's base. Until then, that water skin is your life."
"Well, my weapon won't do me much good if it starts to melt before we get to the fight," I say taking a sip of lukewarm water.
"Better than nothing," I think as the fluid runs over my cracked lips and down my dry throat. "How far have we gone anyway?"
"Almost ten miles," Khalid says with the assurance of a seasoned guide. We will reach the oasis by sundown and then travel the last leg on foot under the cover of night."
"I hope you're right about that. You weren't kidding about that sun."
"How much have you been drinking?" He asks in voice that almost makes him sound like a sergeant.
"Funny, I'm usually the one asking that question…" I say a little bemused.
"How much?" he asks again even more forcefully.
"I've got about half a skin left," I say feeling the weight of my water bag in my hand.
"Trade with me," he says grabbing his bag off his saddle and handing it back.
"No, I'm good," I say trying to sound polite. I don't want him to realize how much I'm hurting.
"That was not a request!" he says in a tone that makes even this veteran sergeant major jump a little.
"Yes, Sir," I say smiling under my headscarf. We exchange bags and I'm amazed that his is still almost full.
"The day is half gone," Khalid says hanging my skin from his saddle, "by the time the sun sets, your bag should be empty. You are not used to this place and need extra water."
"Roger that," I say taking a sip from his water skin. "When this is all over, if you're looking for a job, I've got one for you as a platoon sergeant." I laugh, but Khalid doesn't get the joke.
For all they smell, these camels really are miracle animals. For the rest of the day until the sun mercifully sets into the west, they don't require a single break. Just as the first star appears over our heads, we reach the oasis. It is a collection of perhaps half a dozen palm trees clustered around a tiny spring and hidden by a series of large dunes. If you didn't know it was here, you'd never find it. It's the perfect tactical assembly area. I look around and know we must be close to the sea. Several gulls rest in the branches of the palms and the wind has the slightest hint of humidity.
We dismount the camels. Two of the men agree to stay back and guard the animals while the remainder of us will go forward to the militia base. It will be twenty of us versus an unknown number of them. Hopefully, the element of surprise will help us carry the day.
I suggest to Khalid we rest here for a few hours to rehydrate and recover from our journey and he agrees. It will better if we wait until darkness completely falls over the desert and the pirates will begin to sleep for the night.
The rest of the men refill their water skins from the spring and then finally begin to eat from the bundles their wives prepared for them. Khalid, however, disappears behind one of the trees. I decide to leave him to his thoughts as I take my turn at the water. I bend over and begin to sip the cool liquid from the pool. Eerily, I'm reminded of the night I ran away from home almost twelve years ago. The same sense of nervousness and fear of the unknown sits in my gut like a rock, but luckily the feeling is tempered by a little more experience this time around. I pull the scarf from around my head, dunk it in the spring until it is soaking wet, and then tie it around my neck. It feels absolutely wonderful as the heat built up in my body from the day dissipates into the night air.
I'm about to catch an hour of two of sleep underneath one of the palms when I suddenly hear a familiar sound coming out of the darkness. I push forward to the edge of the oasis and find Khalid kneeling in the sand. He has drawn the scimitar from its scabbard and gently runs it over and over again against a sharpening stone he holds in his left hand.
"Isn't that something you probably should have taken care of before we left?" I say in a joking tone. He turns around, sees me, and then cracks a smile.
"Probably, but it's how I calm down before going in battle," he replies before going back to his task. I reach down and grip the hatchet in my belt.
"I know exactly how you feel…"
Just after midnight, the rest of the raiders and I depart on foot from the safety of the oasis. Before we left, I went over how to move tactically on foot with the tribesmen as Khalid translated for me. Now, as I look back at the group behind me, I realize that they're not quite up to Panem Infantry standards, but it's more than adequate. We may actually have a chance of pulling this thing off.
I'm in the lead and Khalid travels close behind. Just as I had feared last night in the encampment, the moonlight is almost as bright as day. I signal for everyone to stay as low to the ground as possible, but Khalid's robes almost look like a fluorescent light out here. Distracted by him, I almost crest the top of a sand dune without looking. Luckily, I turn back forward just in time to drop to the ground and freeze. Thankfully, the rest of the tribe remembers my lesson and does the same. Khalid silently approaches and then whispers just loud enough for me to understand.
"What is it?" he asks concerned.
"I hear voices on the other side," I mouth back in reply. Together, we slowly crawl just below the crest of the dune and peak over the top. At the base of the dune, four militiamen sit around a small fire, talking, laughing, and passing around a glass bottle. Their weapons lie at their sides as they get drunk.
"A pirate patrol," Khalid whispers again. "The sinful fools act like swine when they should be guarding their perimeter."
"Just because these guys are partying doesn't mean they don't have sober friends nearby…" I reply. "Is that sword just for show or do you know how to use it?" Khalid looks straight into my eyes and grins. His teeth glimmer menacingly in the moonlight.
"I'm the best in my tribe."
"Alright, we'll make this quiet. I'll take the left, and you go around to the right." He nods and then disappears towards our rear. I quickly crawl backwards a few yards and then hop to my feet. I dash through the darkness around the base of the dune and then turn in towards the enemy guards. I'm just about to draw my hatchet when I freeze again. Outlined in the dim firelight, I see the faint figure of a man stumbling forward. He's moving too slowly to have spotted me, but that doesn't mean he hasn't heard something. I flatten myself against the sand and ready myself for the ambush, but he pauses just three yards away, turns his back, and fumbles with the front of his trousers. A few seconds later, I hear the sound of urine splashing against the sand.
I see my opportunity and sneak around behind him through the darkness. While he's still completely focused on the business in his hand, I whistle a quick cat call. He looks over his shoulder just as my hatchet blade hacks into his neck. He instantly collapses to the ground.
I keep moving forward towards the light. His other three companions haven't heard anything and keep their gaze on the fire. I quickly think through my options and decide just to go for it. I break into a sprint and let my hatchet fly. It buries itself in the back of the militiaman nearest to me. He collapses face down at the edge of the fire. At first, the other two think he just passed out from the alcohol, but soon let out muffled cries as they see the hatchet head glimmering in the orange firelight. I roll forward grab the handle and then swing wide, making contact with the second fighter in the side of his head. Once I'm sure he's dead, I spin around to face the third one, but he's already on his feet, getting ready to raise his weapon. I'm about to lunge forward, when suddenly the sound of steel slicing through the air reaches my ears. The third pirate's head slowly rolls away from his neck and falls the ground, followed a second later by the rest of his body. Khalid stands behind him holding his sword aloft. He wipes the blood on the edge of his robes before returning his weapon to its scabbard.
"Not bad," I say climbing back to my feet.
"I told you," he says a little insulted as we run back to grab the rest of our fighters. Soon, we've left the firelight behind and move back into darkness among the dunes. I'm beginning to think we may be headed the wrong direction when I finally make out the sea, resting less than a mile in front of us in an endless black void. Just on the edge of the water is a collection of fifteen small mud brick buildings next to four large steel tanks surrounded by a dilapidated chain link fence. Electric lights are strung haphazardly around the compound and we can hear the sound of a generator humming through the night. On the far side of the buildings is a wooden dock where six gunboats lie at anchor.
"I'm guessing that's what we're looking for," I say to Khalid a little sarcastically.
"Yes," he says nodding to me in the dark. "That is the home of the bandits."
"Well then, let's see if we can go right up and knock."