patience.
He knew the most difficult challenge for any sentry comes during the early morning hours when everyone else is asleep and the threat level is perceived to be low. That’s when it’s easy to relax, or even go so far as to catch some surreptitious shut-eye, especially if discipline is lax. So Palmer forced the others to endure three long, cold hours on the ground, before finally leading them forward.
There were only two sentries. A clear indication of how secure the bandits felt. Still, it would only take
one
sentry to give the alarm, so it was critical to silence them both. The plan called for Palmer and Guiscard to neutralize the man at the east end of the encampment, while Damya slipped past them, and went after the sentry off to the west.
The first part of the plan went off without a hitch. It seemed the eastern sentry liked to smoke, which meant it was not only possible to see the glow of his cigarette each time he took a drag, but to hear his persistent coughing fits as well. So it was relatively easy to slip up behind the bandit, snatch his headdress off, and hit him over the head with a rifle butt. Something Palmer did without hesitation, knowing that the sentry and his companions were responsible for at least two deaths, and probably more. There was a soft thud
as the Tuareg went down.
Guiscard felt for a pulse, found one, and fumbled for the gag that was looped under his belt. Hopefully that, plus some lengths of pre-cut cord, would prevent the sentry from giving an alarm until it no longer mattered.
Meanwhile, having passed the first sentry, Damya was halfway through the encampment when a bandit lurched out of a tent. The man was on his way to relieve himself, or that’s what the tracker assumed, as the brigand aimed a torch at him. “Who
are
you?” The flashlight hit the ground as Damya jerked the other man in close and pushed the Tuareg dagger up under his ribs. The long, sharp blade found its target, and there was a soft sigh as the bandit went limp.
Damya lowered the body to the ground, hurried to turn the flashlight off, and took a moment to wipe his blade clean before returning the weapon to its sheath. Then, confident that the incident had gone unobserved, the Tuareg continued on his way.
The
second
sentry, the one posted at the west end of the camp, was doing a good job. Partly because he took the task seriously, but also because he was bandit chieftain Naravas’ third son, and eager to establish himself as a full grown man. But his attention was directed
outward,
which meant that when he heard gravel crunch behind him, he assumed one of his father’s men was coming to check on him.
So the youngster was just starting to turn when a rock slammed into the side of his head and he collapsed. Damya caught the AK-47 before it could hit the ground and prevented what would have been a loud clatter. Having laid the assault rifle across its owner’s body he hurried to gag the boy and tie him up.
With that accomplished it was time for the Tuareg to begin his primary mission. Which was to disable one of the 4 X 4’s by slashing its tires. But rather that shove his dagger in through the tread, which would create a puncture which could be repaired with a tire plug or some aerosol sealant, Damya was going to rip holes in the more vulnerable sidewalls. That would make any sort of fix impossible.
So the tracker wove his way between the tents, knelt next to a Toyota Land Cruiser, and drew his dagger. Working primarily by feel, with only occasional blips of light from a hand torch to help him, Damya slashed all four of the vehicle’s knobby tires. The air made a gentle hissing noise as it leaked out and the Toyota settled onto its rims.
Then, confident that his objective had been accomplished Damya made his way over to the Mog, where Guiscard was behind the wheel and Palmer was up on the truck bed standing next to the crane. The Tuareg knew how dangerous such moments could be, and having aimed his
He knew the most difficult challenge for any sentry comes during the early morning hours when everyone else is asleep and the threat level is perceived to be low. That’s when it’s easy to relax, or even go so far as to catch some surreptitious shut-eye, especially if discipline is lax. So Palmer forced the others to endure three long, cold hours on the ground, before finally leading them forward.
There were only two sentries. A clear indication of how secure the bandits felt. Still, it would only take
one
sentry to give the alarm, so it was critical to silence them both. The plan called for Palmer and Guiscard to neutralize the man at the east end of the encampment, while Damya slipped past them, and went after the sentry off to the west.
The first part of the plan went off without a hitch. It seemed the eastern sentry liked to smoke, which meant it was not only possible to see the glow of his cigarette each time he took a drag, but to hear his persistent coughing fits as well. So it was relatively easy to slip up behind the bandit, snatch his headdress off, and hit him over the head with a rifle butt. Something Palmer did without hesitation, knowing that the sentry and his companions were responsible for at least two deaths, and probably more. There was a soft thud
as the Tuareg went down.
Guiscard felt for a pulse, found one, and fumbled for the gag that was looped under his belt. Hopefully that, plus some lengths of pre-cut cord, would prevent the sentry from giving an alarm until it no longer mattered.
Meanwhile, having passed the first sentry, Damya was halfway through the encampment when a bandit lurched out of a tent. The man was on his way to relieve himself, or that’s what the tracker assumed, as the brigand aimed a torch at him. “Who
are
you?” The flashlight hit the ground as Damya jerked the other man in close and pushed the Tuareg dagger up under his ribs. The long, sharp blade found its target, and there was a soft sigh as the bandit went limp.
Damya lowered the body to the ground, hurried to turn the flashlight off, and took a moment to wipe his blade clean before returning the weapon to its sheath. Then, confident that the incident had gone unobserved, the Tuareg continued on his way.
The
second
sentry, the one posted at the west end of the camp, was doing a good job. Partly because he took the task seriously, but also because he was bandit chieftain Naravas’ third son, and eager to establish himself as a full grown man. But his attention was directed
outward,
which meant that when he heard gravel crunch behind him, he assumed one of his father’s men was coming to check on him.
So the youngster was just starting to turn when a rock slammed into the side of his head and he collapsed. Damya caught the AK-47 before it could hit the ground and prevented what would have been a loud clatter. Having laid the assault rifle across its owner’s body he hurried to gag the boy and tie him up.
With that accomplished it was time for the Tuareg to begin his primary mission. Which was to disable one of the 4 X 4’s by slashing its tires. But rather that shove his dagger in through the tread, which would create a puncture which could be repaired with a tire plug or some aerosol sealant, Damya was going to rip holes in the more vulnerable sidewalls. That would make any sort of fix impossible.
So the tracker wove his way between the tents, knelt next to a Toyota Land Cruiser, and drew his dagger. Working primarily by feel, with only occasional blips of light from a hand torch to help him, Damya slashed all four of the vehicle’s knobby tires. The air made a gentle hissing noise as it leaked out and the Toyota settled onto its rims.
Then, confident that his objective had been accomplished Damya made his way over to the Mog, where Guiscard was behind the wheel and Palmer was up on the truck bed standing next to the crane. The Tuareg knew how dangerous such moments could be, and having aimed his
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