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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2921491" data-attributes="member: 26473">Around a bend in the oued, some twenty meters ahead of the advancing paras, two figures dressed in striped djellbas lead a pair of donkeys along the dry streambed. Both men stop short in obvious surprise at the appearance of the camo-clad legionnaires. Hurried words are exchanged between the two, too soft to hear.Walking at the head of the column, David Nedjar raises a hand and the paras drop to one knee amid the rocks and scraggly scrub at the bottom of the streamcourse. “Qif!” Nedjar calls out – Stop! – to the two men as the legionnaires quickly glance about; the hillsides overlooking the oued appear empty. The two men in the hooded robes stand still as statues, one pulling the harnesses of the two donkeys to bring them to a halt as well. One of the dun-colored animals has a simple woolen bag draped over its back – the other donkey is unladen.“Choc, en avant!” Sgt. Katsourianis orders, and Normand, Pyotr, Raffaele join Nedjar and Pamuk, moving toward the men and their livestock as the rest of the section takes up covering positions.The distance is about sixty-five feet. There is scattered brush and rocks for cover and concealment all along the streambed. Marcel is at the back of the platoon again and unable to see the men – he is aware that the column draws to a halt, and a check of the surrounding hillsides reveals nothing but more rocks and brush.</blockquote>

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