As Sgt. Szabo’s squad takes up a flanking position, the rest of the platoon follows the trail taken by the two Arab boys into the village.
Mudbrick
mechtas with white-washed walls perch along a rocky shelf ringing the fields and date palms in the
oued. Kat’s section follows Lt. Ramadier along a path worn into the stony hillside that skirts the edge of the
oued, leading to the east side of the
douar.
The voices of the two boys running along the trail carry back to Raffaele as he studies the scene –
“Les bérets vert! Les bérets vert!” they call excitedly in thickly-accented French, and the legionnaires are greeted by the stares of scores of Arabs.
The villagers peer from doorways and windows or stand still as statues on the hillside as the Legion paras approach. Passing a clump of date palms, the legionnaires see a half-dozen Arab men digging a long, narrow trench stretching along the edge of the
oued while another group lays the foundation for a wall – lengths of iron pipe and stacks of mud bricks stand ready.
The two boys race down the slope to where the men are working on the wall and the trench – the boys call and point at the paras as the Arabs look up from their shovels and picks. A figure seated on one of the piles of bricks, another Arab, dressed in khaki with crimson shoulder boards and
bonnet de police cap, stands and raises a rifle above his head, waving it slowly from side to side as the legionnaires draw closer, then walks carefully up the slope to the trail.
“Benoit, notify Le Capitaine that we’ve reached the village,” Lt. Ramadier says to his radio – Benoit Robbrecht, standing at the
sous-lieutenant’s hip, reaches for the handset of the Motorola hanging at this shoulder.
The Arab in khakis approaches, a smallish man with a thick mustache. He salutes Lt. Ramadier.
“Moghazni Zabana,” he says,
“SAS.” The Arab militiaman’s eyes play over the legionnaires, his face impassive.
“We’re here for Lt. Ferrand,” Lt. Ramadier replies, looking around the village. The tall, athletic officer towers over the Arab.
The
moghazni, Zabana, nods, and turns to the two boys who’ve inched up the hill to get a closer look at
les bérets vert.
<اللغة العربية, العربية>
</اللغة العربية, العربية>, he says, and the boys race up the path once again.
Pyotr, Normand, Raffaele, and the rest of Kat’s section listen to the exchange and look around warily at the expressionless faces of the villagers. A few whisper comments to one another, too low for the legionnaires to hear – others duck quickly out of sight as the paras pause at the
douar’s edge. Marcel feels a tap on his arm – Sgt. Müller motions for the medic to follow as the German makes his way to the platoon leader’s side.
Lt. Ramadier turns to Kat.
“Sergent, I want a house-by-house search for weapons,” the young officer officer orders.
“Sergent Altmeier’s section will secure the villagers.”
“Oui, mon lieutenant,” Sgt. Katsourianis replies. He looks at the section.
“David, Burhan, Mador, Barzini will make entry– the rest of us secure the exterior.” He motions toward a two-story
mechta on the edge of the hill above the trail.
It’s clear that the villagers built the brick
mechtas for defense – the slope is steep and the approach exposed. Eyes probe the shadowy windows of the house – from an upper window a young boy looks out, then disappears as the paras advance on the door. The legionnaires fan out, the
choc element – David Nedjar and Normand on one side, Burhan Pamuk and Raffaele on the other – taking up position on either side of the entrance, the heavy wooden door standing open, the interior in darkness. From where he waits with the platoon sergeant, Marcel watches as the second section moves up the path, weapons pointed at the Arabs working on the wall.
“Ready?” Nedjar asks as the rest of the section moves to cover the corners and windows of the building. Before he can give the order to enter, however, a voice calls out,
“Legionnaires, wait!”
Another khaki-clad figure, this one with arms and legs covered in mud, strides down the
piste. He points to the legionnaires poised at the door, and repeats,
“Wait!”
The blue dot on the map is Kat’s section, including Normand, Pyotr, and Raffaele. The red dot is the platoon command and Marcel. The green dot is where the Arabs are working. The yellow dot is the person who called out, “Wait!” The grid on the map marks ten-foot-by-ten-foot squares.