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<blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2750633" data-attributes="member: 26473"><p>Breaking over the edge of the <em>oued</em> like a wave, the <em>moudjahiddine</em> spill up the shallow streambed. Gravel crunches beneath the boots and sandals of the men as they surge forward in short bursts, dropping to the ground, then rising and running again.</p><p></p><p>Ahmed races forward, crouching low, and falls prone at the stream bank. A cluster of paras are just a hundred meters ahead, a wounded man carried on the shoulders of two of his comrades. Almost as soon as Ahmed’s men break from cover a second cluster of paras open fire from among the rocks on the right.</p><p></p><p>As Saleh’s men advance, Yazid’s platoon swarms to the edge of the streambed and begin laying down a base of fire on the paras concealed among the rocks – the crack of the rifles fills the desert air, drowning out for the moment the buzz of the spotter plane overhead. Ahmed hefts his own rifle, dashes forward and throws himself to the ground as a legionnaire’s bullet whines overhead. <em>They’ll adjust for the down-slope, find the range</em>, he thinks grimly. Then he’s up and running again.</p><p></p><p>One of the <em>moussebiline</em>, a young fellow with brown-and-white <em>kufi</em> and an old Spanish Mauser in his hands, rises in front of Ahmed – as he does so, the young Arab’s head snaps back and he collapses to the floor of the streambed, like a puppet with it strings cut. Ahmed keeps his stride, stepping over the body. A jagged hole marks where the man’s right cheek had once been. <em>A boy</em>, he corrects himself. <em>Not a man</em>. The ALN rifles crash in reply.</p><p></p><p>Glancing back to check on the progress of his men Ahmed sees Saleh’s section move out of the cover of the stream bed to a position among the rocks on the left. He drops to the ground and looks around the battlefield. The cluster of paras in the streambed have broken apart now, a handful racing for the low hill to the east as another carries the wounded man on his back along the shallow gully. <em>Saleh will take care of those two</em>, he thinks. <em>Yazid needs to clear those rocks on the right</em>. As if on cue, Ahmed feels a hand on his leg, hears Sgt. Yazid’s voice above the gunfire.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: sienna">“I’ll need covering fire, sir,”</span> the veteran says, <span style="color: sienna">“and my boys will take those rocks and cover your advance from there.”</span> Yazid glances back along the gully. <span style="color: sienna">“Ali will put his fire on that hill,”</span> the old sergeant finishes.</p><p></p><p>Ahmed grips Yazid’s arm, feels the iron underneath the sleeve of his fatigues, and rises again to advance. Paras are scrambling up the rocky slope of the low rise now – only a handful, it seems, as Ahmed weaves forward and once again drops to the sandy bottom of the streambed. The lieutenant grabs a man in front of him – <span style="color: sienna">“Fire on those rocks, now!”</span> he orders, then pushes himself to his feat and runs to the next man, giving the same order, and again.</p><p></p><p>The MG-34 roars to life as Ali fires on the rocks – sand spits into the air around the paras, and Ahmed permits himself a moment to watch the tongue of flame emerge from the barrel of the old German gun. The moment quickly passes, however, as the paras respond with fire of their own from the rocky hill. Another of his men goes down, clutching at his throat and uttering a gurgling cry, and he can feel a tremor among <em>moudjahiddine</em> as the advance wavers. Ahmed rises and grabs one of the cowering men by the back of the shirt, pulling him to his feet and pushing him forward, then does the same with another as the paras’ fire buzzes around the insurgents in the streambed.</p><p></p><p>The machine gun roars again and out of the corner of his eye, Ahmed sees movement – the paras in the rocks have had enough as they break from cover and race for the hill. Rifle fire from Yazid’s men chases them across the <em>hammada</em>. The lieutenant has no time to observe the effect, however, as a guerilla suddenly drops his rifle and runs headlong for the <em>oued</em>. A second man looks back, and a third. <span style="color: sienna">“Forward!”</span> Ahmed yells above the din, rising from the ground, motioning to his men, willing them to follow him into the paras’ fire.</p><p></p><p>Saleh.</p><p></p><p>To his left come a dozen men, charging hard across the desert on the far side of the streambed, running all out, Saleh in the lead – Ahmed can see the fierce smile on his friend’s face as he sprints, the MP-40 close to his chest. <span style="color: sienna">“Forward!”</span> the lieutenant cries again to the men around him in the gully, <span style="color: sienna">“Follow me!”</span></p><p></p><p>As the machine gun tracers reach out toward the hill, Ahmed rallies the men in ones and twos, shoving them, kicking them, driving them into the teeth of the paras’ fire. He catches a glimpse of paras diving for cover, the same men who’d been running from the rocks a moment ago. The lieutenant utters a soft curse – Yazid’s platoon, and the machine gun, should have fixed them in place, cut them off and killed them. As he looks up at the hill, however, he realizes how spread out the paras are across its top. <em>We must roll up the flank</em>, he thinks, <em>and sweep them off the hill</em>.</p><p></p><p>Unable to pin down the paras, Sgt. Yazid wastes no time moving for the rocks, however, breaking from the cover of the gully and lumbering across the stony ground. The MG-34 is silent again as Ali moves forward with the other half of Yazid’s platoon to take up a covering position for Ahmed’s own advance toward the hill. The lieutenant looks for Saleh, sees him and his men crossing the streambed, closing on the flank of the hill...</p><p></p><p>The <em>moudjahiddine</em> are lost in a cloud of dust as a grenade explodes, followed quickly by a second blast. Ahmed drives his legs forward, then dives to the ground, his eyes searching the swirling dust. Only a handful of men remain from the section that charged up the flank, and submachine gun fire rakes the survivors. Saleh is nowhere to be seen.</p><p></p><p><em>Attack with a sure blow, advance at a steady pace.</em></p><p></p><p>Ahmed watches as two more of the men are cut down as they flee. A dozen men, gone in seconds. <em>An ambush</em>. Somewhere in the streambed lay the body of his friend. <em>Saleh</em>.</p><p></p><p><em>If we are sure to win, fight to the end; if not, resolutely refuse combat.</em></p><p></p><p>Ahmed swallows hard, stands up, and dashes forward again.</p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: darkgray">Next week, the conclusion of the battle at <em>Oued Walah</em>...</span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="The Shaman, post: 2750633, member: 26473"] Breaking over the edge of the [i]oued[/i] like a wave, the [i]moudjahiddine[/i] spill up the shallow streambed. Gravel crunches beneath the boots and sandals of the men as they surge forward in short bursts, dropping to the ground, then rising and running again. Ahmed races forward, crouching low, and falls prone at the stream bank. A cluster of paras are just a hundred meters ahead, a wounded man carried on the shoulders of two of his comrades. Almost as soon as Ahmed’s men break from cover a second cluster of paras open fire from among the rocks on the right. As Saleh’s men advance, Yazid’s platoon swarms to the edge of the streambed and begin laying down a base of fire on the paras concealed among the rocks – the crack of the rifles fills the desert air, drowning out for the moment the buzz of the spotter plane overhead. Ahmed hefts his own rifle, dashes forward and throws himself to the ground as a legionnaire’s bullet whines overhead. [i]They’ll adjust for the down-slope, find the range[/i], he thinks grimly. Then he’s up and running again. One of the [i]moussebiline[/i], a young fellow with brown-and-white [i]kufi[/i] and an old Spanish Mauser in his hands, rises in front of Ahmed – as he does so, the young Arab’s head snaps back and he collapses to the floor of the streambed, like a puppet with it strings cut. Ahmed keeps his stride, stepping over the body. A jagged hole marks where the man’s right cheek had once been. [i]A boy[/i], he corrects himself. [i]Not a man[/i]. The ALN rifles crash in reply. Glancing back to check on the progress of his men Ahmed sees Saleh’s section move out of the cover of the stream bed to a position among the rocks on the left. He drops to the ground and looks around the battlefield. The cluster of paras in the streambed have broken apart now, a handful racing for the low hill to the east as another carries the wounded man on his back along the shallow gully. [i]Saleh will take care of those two[/i], he thinks. [i]Yazid needs to clear those rocks on the right[/i]. As if on cue, Ahmed feels a hand on his leg, hears Sgt. Yazid’s voice above the gunfire. [color=sienna]“I’ll need covering fire, sir,”[/color] the veteran says, [color=sienna]“and my boys will take those rocks and cover your advance from there.”[/color] Yazid glances back along the gully. [color=sienna]“Ali will put his fire on that hill,”[/color] the old sergeant finishes. Ahmed grips Yazid’s arm, feels the iron underneath the sleeve of his fatigues, and rises again to advance. Paras are scrambling up the rocky slope of the low rise now – only a handful, it seems, as Ahmed weaves forward and once again drops to the sandy bottom of the streambed. The lieutenant grabs a man in front of him – [color=sienna]“Fire on those rocks, now!”[/color] he orders, then pushes himself to his feat and runs to the next man, giving the same order, and again. The MG-34 roars to life as Ali fires on the rocks – sand spits into the air around the paras, and Ahmed permits himself a moment to watch the tongue of flame emerge from the barrel of the old German gun. The moment quickly passes, however, as the paras respond with fire of their own from the rocky hill. Another of his men goes down, clutching at his throat and uttering a gurgling cry, and he can feel a tremor among [i]moudjahiddine[/i] as the advance wavers. Ahmed rises and grabs one of the cowering men by the back of the shirt, pulling him to his feet and pushing him forward, then does the same with another as the paras’ fire buzzes around the insurgents in the streambed. The machine gun roars again and out of the corner of his eye, Ahmed sees movement – the paras in the rocks have had enough as they break from cover and race for the hill. Rifle fire from Yazid’s men chases them across the [i]hammada[/i]. The lieutenant has no time to observe the effect, however, as a guerilla suddenly drops his rifle and runs headlong for the [i]oued[/i]. A second man looks back, and a third. [color=sienna]“Forward!”[/color] Ahmed yells above the din, rising from the ground, motioning to his men, willing them to follow him into the paras’ fire. Saleh. To his left come a dozen men, charging hard across the desert on the far side of the streambed, running all out, Saleh in the lead – Ahmed can see the fierce smile on his friend’s face as he sprints, the MP-40 close to his chest. [color=sienna]“Forward!”[/color] the lieutenant cries again to the men around him in the gully, [color=sienna]“Follow me!”[/color] As the machine gun tracers reach out toward the hill, Ahmed rallies the men in ones and twos, shoving them, kicking them, driving them into the teeth of the paras’ fire. He catches a glimpse of paras diving for cover, the same men who’d been running from the rocks a moment ago. The lieutenant utters a soft curse – Yazid’s platoon, and the machine gun, should have fixed them in place, cut them off and killed them. As he looks up at the hill, however, he realizes how spread out the paras are across its top. [i]We must roll up the flank[/i], he thinks, [i]and sweep them off the hill[/i]. Unable to pin down the paras, Sgt. Yazid wastes no time moving for the rocks, however, breaking from the cover of the gully and lumbering across the stony ground. The MG-34 is silent again as Ali moves forward with the other half of Yazid’s platoon to take up a covering position for Ahmed’s own advance toward the hill. The lieutenant looks for Saleh, sees him and his men crossing the streambed, closing on the flank of the hill... The [i]moudjahiddine[/i] are lost in a cloud of dust as a grenade explodes, followed quickly by a second blast. Ahmed drives his legs forward, then dives to the ground, his eyes searching the swirling dust. Only a handful of men remain from the section that charged up the flank, and submachine gun fire rakes the survivors. Saleh is nowhere to be seen. [i]Attack with a sure blow, advance at a steady pace.[/i] Ahmed watches as two more of the men are cut down as they flee. A dozen men, gone in seconds. [i]An ambush[/i]. Somewhere in the streambed lay the body of his friend. [i]Saleh[/i]. [i]If we are sure to win, fight to the end; if not, resolutely refuse combat.[/i] Ahmed swallows hard, stands up, and dashes forward again. [size=1][color=darkgray]Next week, the conclusion of the battle at [i]Oued Walah[/i]...[/color][/size] [/QUOTE]
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