"Good news, we can use," Homer said.
* * * * *
The big Californian looked at him in pretended awe. "A poet no less,"
he said.
"Shut up," Homer said. "What's the news?"
The fact of the matter was, he was becoming increasingly impatient of
the continual banter expected of him by Cliff and even the others. As
original members of the team, they expected an intimacy that he was
finding it increasingly difficult to deliver. Among other things, he
wished that Cliff, in particular, would mind his attitude when such
followers as Guemama were present. The El Hassan posture could be
maintained only in never to be compromised dignity.
Bey had once compared him to Alexander, to Homer's amusement at the
time. But now he was beginning to sympathize with the position the
Macedonian leader had found himself in, betwixt the King-God conscious
Persians, and the rough and ready Companions who formed his bodyguard
and crack cavalry units. A King-God simply didn't banter with his
subordinates, not even his blood-kin.
Cliff scowled at him now, at the sharpness of Homer's words, but he
made his report.
"Our old pal, Sven Zetterberg. He's gone out on a limb. Because of the
great danger of this so-far localized fight spreading into world-wide
conflict--says old Sven--the Reunited Nations will not tolerate the
combat going into the air. He says that if _either_ El Hassan or the
Arab Legion resort to use of aircraft, the Reunited Nations will send
in its air fleet."
"Wow," Homer said. "All the aircraft we've got are a few slow-moving
heliocopters that Kenny brought up with him."
Dave Moroka snapped his fingers in a gesture of elation. "That means
Zetterberg is throwing his weight to our side."
Homer was on his feet. "Send for Kenny and Guemama and send a
heliocopter down to pick up Bey and rush him here. He shouldn't be
more than a day's march away. I wonder what Elmer is up to. No word at
all from him. At any rate, we want an immediate council of war. With
Arab Legion air cover eliminated, we can move in."
Cliff said sourly, "It's still largely rifles against armored cars,
tanks, mobile artillery and even flame throwers."
* * * * *
All the old hands were present. They stood about a map table, Homer
and Bey-ag-Akhamouk at one end, the rest clustered about. Isobel sat
in a chair to the rear, stenographer's pad on her knees.
Bey was clipping out suggestions.
"We have them now. Already our better trained men are heading up for
Temassinine to the north and Fort Charlet to the east. We'll lose men
but we'll knock out every water hole between here and Libya. We'll cut
every road, blow what few bridges there are."
Jack Peters said worriedly, "But the important thing is Tamanrasset.
What good--"
"We're cutting their supply line," Bey told him. "Can't you see?
Colonel Ibrahim and his motorized column will be isolated in
Tamanrasset. They won't be able to get supplies through without an air
lift and Sven Zetterberg's ultimatum kills that possibility. They're
blocked off."
Jimmy Peters was as confused as his brother. "So what? to use the
Americanism. They have both food and water in abundance. They can hold
out indefinitely. Meanwhile, our forces are undisciplined irregulars.
We gain a thousand recruits a day. They come galloping in on
camel-back or in beat-up old vehicles, firing their hunting rifles
into the air. But we also lose a thousand a day. They get bored, or
hungry, and decide to go back to their flocks, or their jobs on the
new Sahara projects. At any rate, they drift off again. It looks to me
that, if Colonel Ibrahim can hold out another week or so, our forces
might melt away--all except the couple of hundred or so European and
American educated followers. And, cut down to that number, they'll
eliminate us in no time flat."
Homer Crawford was eying him in humor. "You're no fighting man,
Peters. Tell me, what is the single most fearsome enemy of an
ultra-mechanized soldier with the latest in military equipment and
super-firepower weapons?"