Then…the Sands of Time Ran Out for the French Foreign Legion…

Now was the time of kill or be killed; the duel to the death between the Terror of the Sahara, Al-Kaseltzer’s bloodthirsty desert marauders and Captain François’s detachment of the fearless French Foreign Legion who defiantly held the small fort flying the flag of France. It was the only structure in the Land of the Sand, a place unknown to the rest of the world, burning with heat in the day and freezing in the darkness of the night.

Beneath their tricolore, the dashing Captain François addressed his devil-may-care Légionnaires,

‘Here they come! They’ll think we’ve run out of ammunition if we stay hidden and hold our fire until they’re right on top of us…Then…make every shot count!’

Once again, the courageous Captain wearing his kepi rakishly tilted drew his revolver from his holster worn low like a Wild West gunslinger. His brave Légionnaires fixed bayonets, then sighted their weapons on the bold ruthless Riffs.

‘Don’t they ever give up?’, asked Légionnaire Pierre.

‘Do we?’, answered Légionnaire André.

‘All we have for them is hot lead and cold steel’, Légionnaire Georges added, ‘Yet they keep coming...’

Captain François coolly stated,

‘Then we’ll keep killing them…Stay hidden and keep quiet!’

Al-Kaseltzer, the wizened Old Man of the Assassins, sat atop his camel cradling his rifle with his left hand and waving his men onwards with his right as he carefully watched the eerily silent fort.

Hasan Bin Sober threw up a rope with a grapnel hook to the parapet that caught and held. The merciless sun flashed on their sadistic smiles and menacing blades as the bearded desert warriors drew their knives to slit the throat of any wounded Légionnaire survivors. They eagerly climbed upwards hand over hand with their daggers between their teeth…The Légionnaires anxiously awaited the close combat no-holds-barred fight to the death that they lived for…

At the wave of his Captain’s hand, Légionnaire Pierre thrust his bayonet into the first Riff who reached the top of the fort’s wall.

‘Give them HELL! They asked for it! They’re going to get it!’

The triumphant defenders expertly fired into the surprised attackers. Légionnaire André threw a grenade to the cluster of Riff Raff around the scaling rope that sent them flying from the blast.

Légionnaire Georges leapt down to open the fort’s gate as Captain François jumped onto the saddle of his white charger Charlemagne.

Al-Kaseltzer was astonished when the gate opened. He raised his rifle to aim at the charging Captain François, but the Legion commander’s expert marksmanship brought the desert chieftain to the sand with a bullet between his eyes; his camel remained placid.

‘Vive Captain François! Vive la mort! Vive la guerre! Vive la Légion Étrangère!’, came les cris de bataille from Fort Sans-Pitié. They chanted, ‘Tiens, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin, voilà du boudin…’

‘Charlie!’

The five-year-old Charlie Miller looked up at his mother carrying a picnic basket. He was playing with his toy soldiers in his sandbox at the end of his family’s backyard. He wore his grey Confederate Centennial kepi with a white face washer under the hat down the back of his head as a Legion havelock.

‘Hi Mom! What’s that?’

‘We’re going to have a special picnic!’

‘A picnic! Oh boy!’

His mother’s brown wicker basket resembled those Yogi Bear would steal in Jellystone Park; it seemed to contain everything!

She laid down a large plaid blanket beneath the shade of the maple tree.

Their backyard ended with a row of small pine trees and a strip of dirt containing Charlie’s Lake Michigan sand box and a vegetable garden that doubled as his oasis. Similar dirt strips with tomato plants bordered their green lawn on its way to their white wooden house. Between the maple and their house was a large cherry tree that gave snowy white blossoms in spring and tart cherries in summer. Next to it was the family garage with the roof covered in white blotches from the local birds who also enjoyed the fruit. On the opposite side of their house was Charlie’s other world of Chestnut Street that he wasn’t yet allowed to cross by himself.

‘It sounds like you had quite a battle!’

‘The Legion held the fort!’

Charlie relished his Dad telling him, ‘Hold the fort’, when he left to go shopping.

It wasn’t only her son who enjoyed Foreign Legion movies; her younger sister loved them as well when she was a girl and never missed them at their small town’s theatre on a Saturday afternoon. Charlie and his Aunt watched one together on television on their recent summer visit. Afterwards she told him how those movies took her away from her small town and gave her dreams of being dressed in a white bush jacket and jodhpurs, riding boots and pith helmet mounted on an Arabian stallion amidst a silvery full moon colouring the desert a glowing blue. She ate dates as she listened to the Muezzin wail the Isha call to prayer from a white minaret amongst the palm trees…

For his birthday she presented him with a shoebox-sized Lido plastic Foreign Legion playset containing Légionnaires with a horse, Riffs with a camel and a small put-together fort. Charlie’s Dad added a French flag on a toothpick and a lesson on the necessity of the flag.

‘That’s wonderful!’

She poured cherry Kool-Aid from a plastic pitcher into colourful plastic cups and gave him his favourite Welch’s Grape Jelly and Peter Pan Peanut Butter sandwich. Later they would enjoy her home-made cherry pie.

‘Thanks, Mom! Why are we having a picnic?’

‘Because it’s a very special occasion.’

‘What’s very special?’

‘It’s the end of summer…and tomorrow you’ll be starting school for the first time. Are you looking forward to kindergarten?’

‘I guess I have to go…’

‘Yes, everyone has to go…’

He was a good boy who always accepted things.

‘Can I bring my soldiers to the picnic?’

‘Yes, that’s just what they’d like after a good battle.’

He dashed off to bring his plastic figures; only Charlie would have a war then invite both sides to a picnic.

He didn’t know that his mother was fighting off crying. She wanted to be with him before her husband and older son returned home.

An afternoon breeze passed through the trees with the rushing sound of the invisible flow of time…

When one door opens, another one closes; one can never return, so enjoy life’s roses…

Though kindergarten was only half a day in the morning, the year after that would be both mornings and afternoons. Charlie would no longer always be there with her playing in the backyard or on the floor or watching an old movie on television or having his nap with Scuttlebutt, his stuffed dog. After school he would be playing on Chestnut Street with the neighbourhood gang of children.

She vowed she would always remember their final picnic together…

Perhaps that was putting things the wrong way, it wasn’t final. There could always be another picnic and he wasn’t leaving, yet he was…leaving for a new step in his life that would never be the same again…

FIN

Author Notes: Happy Birthday, Mom, I still love you...

I am the author of three Extra Dimensional/Ultraterrestial military science fiction novels MERCENARY EXOTIQUE, OPERATION CHUPACABRA and WORK IN OTHER WORLDS FROM YOUR OWN HOME! as well as two travel books THE MAN FROM WAUKEGAN and TWO AUSTRALIANS IN SCOTLAND (all from Lulu.com). I live happily ever after with my wife in paradise (coastal Kiama, NSW Australia).

Recommend Write a ReviewReport