Revenge of the Desert E-Book

Meiring Fouche

• Herausgeber: Pieter Haasbroek
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Sahara Adventure Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 188

Beschreibung

4. SAHARA ADVENTURE SERIES - Revenge of the Desert

Reading the fourth story from Meiring Fouche’s “Sahara Adventure series”, namely “Revenge of the Desert”, will leave you craving for more Sahara action from this author! This story begins when a patrol of French Foreign Legion soldiers fails to return to their fort as scheduled while patrolling in the scorching heat of the Sahara desert.

Days later, the patrol arrives but the men are bound, tortured, and barely clinging to life. All but one, a blond South African legionnaire named Teuns, who has been captured by El Karima, the alluring yet brutal princess of the Dulac tribe. She orders Teuns taken to the capital city of Dutra to be executed before sunrise on the “Hill of Eagles”, where victims are tied to poles and left to the mercy of fierce mountain eagles. As Teuns awaits his gruesome fate, an old friend who harbors a grudge against El Karima surprises him with a last-minute reprieve. Before attempting to escape from Dutra, Teuns decides to steal the Dulacs’ sacred Sword of Dutra from El Karima’s palace. Meanwhile, the Legion commanders at Fort Dini Salam receive orders from the top brass in France to eliminate El Karima. Captain D’Arlan proposes an ingenious but risky plan to Colonel Le Clerq. With only sixty men at his command, D’Arlan leads his soldiers into the desert sands to execute his scheme. Though successful in defeating the first Dulac patrol, D’Arlan’s tactics are so shocking that El Karima dispatches five hundred warriors to confront them. Despite being surrounded, the legionnaires stand their ground. In retaliation, El Karima herself takes command of two thousand Dulac fighters to wipe out D’Arlan and his sixty men.

Teuns manages to steal the Sword of Dutra and escape, only to be recaptured. With help from a freak sandstorm, he breaks free once more before finally rejoining D’Arlan’s group. As the Legion soldiers face El Karima’s two thousand-man army, their water and ammunition dwindle perilously low. In a moment of desperate inspiration, Teuns takes an unexpected action that causes chaos in the Sahara and takes everyone by surprise. Will D’Arlan’s risky gambit pay off? Can the legionnaires defeat El Karima’s overwhelming force? The stakes are high and the desert is unforgiving as the Legion soldiers seek revenge against the sadistic El Karima and her Dulac warriors in this thrilling Saharan adventure.

“Revenge of the Desert” is a thrilling tale of camaraderie, ingenuity, and perseverance against seemingly impossible odds in the unforgiving Sahara. Legends like the brave Teuns Stegmann, Captain D’Arlan, known as the “Houdini of the Sahara”, and El Karima, the alluring yet brutal Dulac princess, clash in battles of wits and war. Set in North Africa during the French Foreign Legion’s campaign against the Dulac tribe, this adventure will captivate fans of military fiction. Author Meiring Fouche’s vivid storytelling puts you right in the desert heat, tasting the sand and fighting for survival. With vivid scenes like the brutal torture and death that awaits on Dutra’s “Hill of Eagles”, this book is not for the faint of heart! Yet heroes like Teuns inspire with their bravery, camaraderie, and refusal to surrender even in the most dire circumstances. Striking imagery like the “sea of ants” formed by thousands of Dulac warriors evokes the vivid setting.

For those who enjoy classic adventure epics like Beau Geste or Lawrence of Arabia, “Revenge of the Desert” is sure to delight. This book can transport you right into the Sahara desert action alongside memorable characters. The evocative setting and thrilling plot will keep your heart racing as you root for the heroes to prevail against incredible odds. With vivid action and intrigue, “Revenge of the Desert” will captivate fans of military fiction eager to discover the fates of Teuns, D’Arlan, and their brave comrades.

Leseprobe

REVENGE OF THE DESERT

by

MEIRING FOUCHE

and

translated by

ANDELENE BRITS

Published by:

TREASURE CHEST BOOKS - PUBLISHERS

Strand Mews Strand

2023

REVENGE OF THE DESERT

The sketch on the cover page was generated with AI software.

This book is the third edition (updated version) and the first edition translated into English.

Copyright in this work is strictly reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. All the characters and the events in this story are fictitious and do not relate to any person, living or dead.

REVENGE OF THE DESERT

by Meiring Fouche and translated by Andelene Brits

ISBN 978-1-928498-91-9

Published by:

Treasure Chest Books - Publishers, Strand Mews,

Strand, 7140

South Africa

Copyright @ Pieter Haasbroek (2023)

Online Store:https://panther-ebooks.com

Website:https://www.softcoverbooks.co.za

ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

“Andelene Brits was born in Paarl in 1966, the youngest of three daughters. I attended Paarl Gymnasium and matriculated there in 1983. After that, I worked in financial institutions. I got married in 1989, and I have three sons. I do not have grandchildren yet, only a lot of dogs! For the last twenty years, I have been a housewife. I have written many stories over the years but have never published anything, although writing is my passion. I love books and have a whole library in my house. I go and browse in second-hand bookstores for treasures. My other passion is people, and I do charity work for those in need. There is not much more I can say about myself, just that what I am doing now is something I have been waiting for all my life to do. Deal with the written word. Words are power. Thank you.”

SUMMARY

Reading the fourth story from Meiring Fouche’s “Sahara Adventure series”, namely “Revenge of the Desert”, will leave you craving for more Sahara action from this author! This story begins when a patrol of French Foreign Legion soldiers fails to return to their fort as scheduled while patrolling in the scorching heat of the Sahara desert.

Days later, the patrol arrives but the men are bound, tortured, and barely clinging to life. All but one, a blond South African legionnaire named Teuns, who has been captured by El Karima, the alluring yet brutal princess of the Dulac tribe. She orders Teuns taken to the capital city of Dutra to be executed before sunrise on the “Hill of Eagles”, where victims are tied to poles and left to the mercy of fierce mountain eagles. As Teuns awaits his gruesome fate, an old friend who harbors a grudge against El Karima surprises him with a last-minute reprieve. Before attempting to escape from Dutra, Teuns decides to steal the Dulacs’ sacred Sword of Dutra from El Karima’s palace, a move sure to enrage both the princess and her people. Meanwhile, the Legion commanders at Fort Dini Salam receive orders from the top brass in France to eliminate El Karima, whose hands are soaked in the blood of too many Legion soldiers. Captain D’Arlan proposes an ingenious but risky plan to Colonel Le Clerq. With only sixty men at his command, D’Arlan leads his soldiers into the desert sands to execute his scheme. Though successful in defeating the first Dulac patrol, D’Arlan’s tactics are so shocking that El Karima dispatches five hundred warriors to confront them. Despite being surrounded, the legionnaires stand their ground. In retaliation, El Karima herself takes command of two thousand Dulac fighters to wipe out D’Arlan and his sixty men.

During the impending clash, Teuns manages to steal the Sword of Dutra and escape, only to be recaptured. With help from a freak sandstorm, he breaks free once more before finally rejoining D’Arlan’s group. As the Legion soldiers face El Karima’s two thousand-man army, their water and ammunition dwindle perilously low. In a moment of desperate inspiration, Teuns takes an unexpected action that causes chaos in the Sahara and takes everyone by surprise. Will D’Arlan’s risky gambit pay off? Can the legionnaires defeat El Karima’s overwhelming force? What surprising move does Teuns make that shocks both friend and foe? The stakes are high and the desert is unforgiving as the Legion soldiers seek revenge against the sadistic El Karima and her Dulac warriors in this thrilling Saharan adventure.

“Revenge of the Desert” is a thrilling tale of camaraderie, ingenuity, and perseverance against seemingly impossible odds in the unforgiving Sahara. Legends like the brave Teuns Stegmann, Captain D’Arlan, known as the “Houdini of the Sahara”, and El Karima, the alluring yet brutal Dulac princess, clash in battles of wits and war. Set in North Africa during the French Foreign Legion’s campaign against the Dulac tribe, this adventure will captivate fans of military fiction. Author Meiring Fouche’s vivid storytelling puts you right in the desert heat, tasting the sand and fighting for survival. With vivid scenes like the brutal torture and death that awaits on Dutra’s “Hill of Eagles”, this book is not for the faint of heart! Yet heroes like Teuns inspire with their bravery, camaraderie, and refusal to surrender even in the most dire circumstances. D’Arlan’s ingenious battle plans offer fascinating military strategy. Striking imagery like the “sea of ants” formed by thousands of Dulac warriors evokes the vivid setting. Many cliffhangers make you eager to see what happens next.

For those who enjoy classic adventure epics like Beau Geste or Lawrence of Arabia, “Revenge of the Desert” is sure to delight. This book can transport you right into the Sahara desert action alongside memorable characters. It highlights how human courage and loyalty can triumph over cruelty and oppression. The evocative setting and thrilling plot will keep your heart racing as you root for the heroes to prevail against incredible odds. With vivid action and intrigue, “Revenge of the Desert” will captivate fans of military fiction eager to discover the fates of Teuns, D’Arlan, and their brave comrades.

EXTRACT

The morning star is starting to fade when Teuns wakes up. He gets up slowly and staggers around on the sand because he is weak. He listens to the silence and pulls his horse up onto its feet. When in terrible peril, simple and conspicuous things are sometimes lost to a man. Your senses become dull, and you do not notice things staring you in the face. He has been like this since the day before yesterday when they had captured him at Harba. First, it was only fear he had experienced, a deathly fear that had dulled his senses. Then, from yesterday, he had only been aware of his terrible hunger and thirst and the shadow of death hanging over him here in the desert.

He pulls the buckle of the belly girth tighter. He struggles to do it because his hands are shaking with fatigue. If Teuns had not needed to tighten the buckle early this morning, he probably never would have survived because just as he drops the saddle’s flap back in position, he becomes aware of something… the saddle bag… Who on earth would think about a saddle bag when you are busy dying?

4. REVENGE OF THE DESERT

Chapter 1

THE DYING HORSEMEN

On the battlements of the French Foreign Legion’s fort, Dini Salam, two guards are walking toward each other in the night wind. When they come face to face, they click their heels, as is the custom, but they do not turn around again and walk in opposite directions as they are supposed to do. One guard is speaking to the other, which is against the rules and strictly forbidden by the Legion.

“Jack,” the one big, strong guard, with a Lebel over his shoulder, whispers to the other in the moon’s dim light.

“Yes?” the other one asks curiously.

The big man is Fritz Mundt, the massive German. He is the biggest man in the whole garrison and the French Foreign Legion, and if given a chance, he can polish off an entire keg of beer on his own.

Jack is Jack Ritchie, the blonde Englishman of noble descent. He had joined the French Foreign Legion to avoid putting his good rural family in England, in disgrace, because of a minor transgression on his part.

“What is it, Fritz?” The Englishman whispers and draws his eyes into slits to make out the German’s expression in the dark.

“I am telling you that something is wrong. I can feel it. All is not as it seems.”

“You have said that a hundred times already, Field Marshall Von Boek,” Jack teases, although he also feels something is amiss.

“It does not matter if I have said it a thousand times before,” the German defends himself, “it stays the truth.”

“This will not be the first patrol that has arrived late, Fritz.” Jack tries to comfort him, but even his own words sound hollow.

“They should have been back here three days ago, and up till now, we have had no tidings of them.”

“Maybe they have met up with a bunch of beautiful Arab girls at some or other oases, big guy,” Jack tries to joke.

Just as serious as the nation he belongs to, Fritz Mundt ignores the frivolous remark.

“Have I not told you that it is a bad idea to separate us from the South African, Teuns Stegmann? Have I not told you that time and time again? And here we have it, and I think that calamity had struck all because the three of us have been separated. It is just wrong, and I have always had that feeling, and I think now my feeling of impending disaster will prove to be true. I do not know why D’Arlan had decided this time to separate us. Why could not we have joined the patrol?”

“I think D’Arlan might have decided to promote the South African to the rank of corporal, which is why he has been sent out with Vermeer’s patrol. That is probably it.”

“Jack, can you remember a period when the three of us were not together? You, me, and Stegmann. Can you?”

“No, we have never been separated before,” Jack agrees, and the realization shocks him. He, the big German, and the South African, Stegmann, have become great friends, and they have always wangled things in such a way that they could be together, even in great danger. If they had over-indulged in the wine, they have always stayed together to help one another, and even when they get a leave of absence and take women out, they are together. If a fight breaks out under the men, they are together. Many times before, out in the desert, they had given one another their last water or cigarette. They are more than just friends with this tall, blonde South African, who had joined the French Foreign Legion because the Arabs had murdered his brother during World War Two. They have immense respect for this man, as he is one of the bravest men they have ever encountered. Not one of them has forgotten how he had managed to save a whole column of the French Foreign Legion once in Dutra, the capital of the war-like Dulacs.

“Now, this is where the problem comes in,” says Fritz Mundt. “This time, we are apart, and that means trouble. I am telling you something has happened.”

“Do you think that the patrol has been overpowered?” Jack asks hesitantly.

“What else? Those damn Dulacs have been far too quiet. It is about time that they start with their shenanigans again. I am telling you again. There is trouble.”

“I cannot accept that Teuns Stegmann and the other guys have been killed.”

“I do not even want to contemplate it,” says Fritz, and he shivers, “but we have to accept the fact that it is a possibility. Where could they be? They should have been back three days ago, and I think D’Arlan might be just as worried as we are. This afternoon he had sent a couple of men to the caravan drivers to ask if they had not seen Vermeer’s patrol.”

“And?”

“They have not seen a damn thing, not even a trail, and Vermeer’s patrol was supposed to follow the main caravan route towards the Atlas Mountains. They should have come across them. They had to!”

“Who says they are speaking the truth? These drivers, you know…”

“Hush!” Fritz whispers urgently.

“What is it?”

“Did you not hear anything? You are so deaf, Englishman, that the Arabs can remove your brain without you knowing about it.”

“Listen! There it is again. Can you hear it now?”

“This time, I heard it,” Jack Ritchie says assertively. “Sounds like the neighing of a horse.”

They hear it again, and it sounds like the neighing of a horse about to die. However, it is not the neighing of a fresh horse. Another sound now reaches their ears, chilling them to the bone. They hear a soft, moaning sound like a man dying or in terrible pain. The man in distress and anguish sends shivers down these hardened men’s spines because they have heard that sound before. They know what it means. Mundt and Ritchie hastily move to the side of the battlement and peer through two openings between the short towers of the wall.

Fritz Mundt’s hands are trembling on the hardened concrete of the battlement’s tower, and Jack Ritchie’s mouth is suddenly very dry, and his ears are burning.

“What in the blue devil?” Mundt asks in a whisper while staring through the dim moonlight at the scene beneath them.

“Riders,” says Ritchie, “but there is blood. I can even see it from up here.”

“What did I tell you?” the German whispers and spits out his chaw of tobacco. “What did I tell you!” he nearly screams.

“Who or what are they?” the Englishman enquires.

Another groan reaches their ears, like a sighing accusation that cuts through a man. The horse neighs softly again.

“Vermeer’s patrol had returned,” says Fritz Mundt, and his voice has a strange tone. With these words, he turns around and rushes down the steps to the guard room. Fritz’s eyes are big and shiny when he storms in there.

“Mon Sergent,” Mundt bursts out when he sees Sergeant Renan, the officer of the guards, “There are riders outside the walls, wounded riders.”

“Riders? What riders?” the sergeant asks with a frown.

“They are wearing the uniforms of the French Foreign Legion, mon Sergent…”

“What are you talking about, Private Mundt?” the sergeant asks, sounding stunned, and then he jumps up, puts his kepi on his head, and storms out of the guard room. The men sitting there with him, awaiting their turn on guard duty, follow Mundt and Ritchie. They run directly for the portal, and four men jump onto the heavy wheel of the pulley. The heavy portal gate opens, and then they are outside. They run underneath the wall around to the west side of the fort. What they see there in the moonlight makes them stop dead in their tracks. They gasp and murmur out their utmost shock and horror.

“Good, merciful heaven!” whispers Sergeant Renan as he hesitantly walks closer. “Those poor bastards!”

Fritz Mundt and Jack Ritchie break the spell by rushing forward toward the group of horses.

“Maleficent Dulac dogs,” Fritz Mundt says softly, and he hisses as he looks at the blood-soaked riders.

They do not even look like human beings anymore. They are terrible, maimed men bound to the horses in different positions. They are limp, bleeding, and groaning.

“Bring the horses inside the fort,” Renan orders. Quickly the animals get taken inside. “Go and wake up Captain D’Arlan and the medical orderly on the double,” he orders two men who had just arrived on the scene.

A couple of minutes later, the men lie in the hospital room. Sergeant Vermeer, the patrol leader sent out over a week ago, is dead. His grey-haired head is lying loosely backward because the Dulac knives have cut off his one big artery. Only four of the men who arrived here are still alive. The rest have all died of blood loss or the horrible torture inflicted on them by the Dulacs.

Renan looks at these wounds and says. “This is the work of the Dulacs. It is the work of El Karima and her swine because only they can be so barbaric. They are the only people capable of treating men like animals.”

The Legion men look upon this carnage and inhuman behavior in utter disgust. They know it is the work of the Dulac Arabs under their white leader. Some men are wringing their hands, and some have turned their faces away. Others have left the room because they cannot look at this horror. Here, a man’s hand had been cut off at the wrist, and over there, a man is missing a nose or ear. Some have just been cut into one of their arteries.

D’Arlan, who had entered the room silently, goes and kneels next to the bed of a young soldier. This had been his first patrol, and maybe his youth had counted in his favor because he could still speak.

“Can you tell me something, mon ami? Can you tell me what happened?” D’Arlan asks with infinite kindness in his voice. “What happened?”

The young man’s lips move convulsively, and big, shiny tears well up in his torturous eyes. He breathes softly as the life flows out of him through two gaping holes in his wrists.

“Can you talk, mon ami?” D’Arlan gently prods him again.

“It is them… it is the Dulacs.”

“The Dulacs?”

He nods. “They attacked us the day before yesterday. The white woman, she…”

“What about the white woman, mon ami?”

The young man licks his cracked lips with a swollen tongue. “The white woman, she was there, she was there...”

“That damn witch,” D’Arlan whispers bitingly.

“We could not fight them. There were a hundred of them.”

“What happened then, mon ami?” asks D’Arlan, giving the dying man more of the cognac.

“They… they have brought us closer to this fort. Most of them went to their home, but some have brought us here.”

He falls silent again, and his eyes close in pain. D’Arlan offers him the glass of cognac again.

This young man is a blonde Swede who had joined the French Foreign Legion in the hope of finding adventure. Now he shakes his head from side to side, opens his wet eyes again, and shouts out the words. “Yesterday afternoon, they tortured us without end!” He tries to jump up as if the memory is too much to bear, and his eyes grow glassy with fear. D’Arlan and Fritz Mundt push him back gently. The orderly, who had been working on some of the wounded, rushes over and gives him an injection.

D’Arlan rises slowly and looks urgently at the medic. The orderly only shakes his head slowly and meaningfully.

“I am afraid, mon Capitaine,” says the grey-haired medical orderly, “that there is not much I can do. I can merely inject them so that they can die while unconscious.” The medic, who had seen so much death already, but nothing quite like this, continues. “I can only spare them the pain. No man can stay alive after so much blood loss. These wounds…they are terrible…”

“Is there no hope? Not even for one of them?” D’Arlan asks softly.

The medic shakes his head. “Not for even one of them.”

Sergeant Renan comes up to D’Arlan and hands him a note. “We have found it in the deceased Sergeant Vermeer’s pocket, Capitaine,” Renan, who is just as pale as the rest of the men, explains.

D’Arlan slowly opens the note and starts reading. The men see the sweat breaking out on his forehead, not something you would see daily. They have seen it before, but only in situations of dire perils or situations of shock. Eventually, he looks up. He looks at the bloody men in turns and wipes his mouth. He struggles to meet the eyes of the men standing there, but finally, he looks into the eyes of Fritz Mundt and Jack Ritchie, who are standing there completely tense. It seems as if they are looking at him in accusation.

The two Legion men have never seen such an expression in D’Arlan’s eyes, although they have been with him through so much in the past. His eyes, usually so sharp and awake, are soft and vulnerable in shock tonight. It glows in deep sympathy and pity now. It seems as if he is begging for their forgiveness with his eyes.

His dry lips move strangely when he speaks. “I am sorry, mes amis,” he tells Mundt and Ritchie. “I am truly sorry.”

They stare at the captain and look at each other, and in both of them, there is a silent protest and some condemnation. They experience a brief moment of hatred towards D’Arlan and know he deserves it.

D’Arlan cannot stand the expressions in their eyes and turns from them. He refolds the note and knows his eyes have answered their unspoken question. He had hoped that they would have at least said something to him, even burst out against him in judgment, although he is their senior officer. Moments like these know no discipline. In times like these, boundaries disappear in an army, and it merely brings all down to the same level. The only status left is the status of being a person who suffers from that. D’Arlan walks to the door and knows that although no word has been spoken, Mundt and Ritchie’s questions have been answered, the silent question about the South African Teuns Stegmann, their fellow soldier, and friend.

Fritz Mundt’s voice makes him stop when he is at the door.

“Mon Capitaine,” the big German says hoarsely, “mon Capitaine…It is not your fault. You could not have known…” His deep voice is hoarse and trembling, and for the first time, D’Arlan notices tears in Fritz Mundt’s eyes. This big, hulking soldier appears to have no heart and is a good fighting machine without feelings.

“It is my fault, mon legionnaire,” says D’Arlan, and a strange smile plays in the corners of his mouth. “I should never have separated you. Legend has it that it is unlucky to separate friends in the French Foreign Legion. I have never believed it, but now I do. When I have decided to send him off without the two of you, I have brought disaster down on the patrol and the garrison.”

“There are no ill feelings,