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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2881622" data-attributes="member: 26473">The platoon, tired but no less wary, navigates the twisting track back to the bourdj where the GMCs are parked. Again Sgt. Katsourianis’s section leads the way, with Lt. Ramadier near the head of the column. Sgt. Altmeier’s section brings up the rear of the paras, followed by Lt. Ferrand, Sister Courcy, the harkis – and the donkeys. Marcel again follows at the back of the platoon – the nurse and the SAS officer are deep in quiet conversation covered by the sound of the hooves of the donkeys and the curses of the skinner, leaving the medic to listen as Sgts. Müller and Altmeier growl at one another in German for ninety minutes.At the front of the column, the legionnaires of the first section pick at the mud and cement clinging to their skin – a hasty wash at the cistern wasn’t enough to remove the caked-on dirt of the day. Sgt. Katsourianis addresses Lt. Ramadier as the column leaves the village. “Sir, was the lieutenant’s intelligence any good?” His tone is skeptical.The tall platoon leader nods. “Yes, it was,” Ramadier answers. “That village back there is in one sector and El-Biya, where we left the rest of the company? That’s in a different sector.” His looks ahead at the hills bordering the oued as he talks over his shoulder to the sergent. “This is the only trail. The commander of the sector won’t send his troops up here because there’s no road in, and the commandant of the battalion in El-Biya won’t send his men up here because it’s not his sector.” “That outpost where we left the trucks – those soldats have never been up here. They patrol the boundary between sectors, and that’s it.” The platoon leader shakes his head as if in disbelief. “How did it go with Lt. Ferrand?” he asks, lowering his voice slightly.Kat gives him a rundown of the work in the village, along with Pyotr’s observations. “Sir, I think we should have tossed the houses,” he offers at the end. “Yes,” Lt. Ramadier agrees. “These rappelé officers who never served overseas, never lived in the colonies – ” He doesn’t finish the thought. “Le Capitaine stresses cooperation with the SAS, Kat. So we cooperate.”“Oui, mon lieutenant,” Kat replies, apparently satisfied that he made his point to the platoon leader.The sun has dropped below the hills as the platoon arrives at the trucks. Lt. Ferrand speaks with the adjudant at the blockhouse – the harkis and the stock will spend the night at the outpost and be picked up in the morning. The paras climb aboard the deuce-and-a-halfs – Lt. Ferrand and Sister Courcy ride in the cab of the lead truck. The drive back is no less gut-wrenching than the trip out, perhaps more so due to the day’s exertions.It’s full dark when Third Platoon rolls into El-Biya once again. The rest of the company has pitched their shelter-halves alongside the barracks belonging to the sector troops garrisoned in the market town. Le Capitaine appears almost as the trucks roll to a stop. As the paras unload, they can overhear Lt. Ferrand enthusiastically praising the legionnaires to the company commander for their hard work in the village.Marcel suddenly finds himself face-to-face with Sister Courcy – standing in the glow of the headlights of the deuce-and-a-half, the slender nurse’s battered fatigues and combat boots are covered in dust, her dark hair tucked up inside her khaki sunhat.She offers hims her hand. “Anne-Marie. Anne-Marie de Courcy. Remember what I told you, Marcel.” Her heart-shaped face breaks into a smile – for the first time it seems to spread across her face, lifting the tip of her nose, crinkling the corners of her blue eyes. “About the fatigues.” She turns and walks away toward the blockhouse.The weary paras take up their primitive quarters for the night.</blockquote>

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