6. 1942

CHAPTER SIX

1942

CYRIL

I t's us or them. There is no in-between where we all live, only to kill each other on a different day when the weather is better.

"We need to draw them out." My heart thumps against my ribs as I turn over options.

"You want me to fire a couple of shots their way?"

I glance over at Willoby. A tall, skinny man who looks as though he's one missed night of sleep from going feral. Or one too many drinks. Most guys only go drinking with Willoby once because they end up in a fight or locked up for the night.

"Take a new position first." My gaze is back on the sights, watching for movement. My finger lies against the trigger, ready to twitch and kill.

I listen as Willoby scuttles around, then goes quiet.

"You with me, Teddy?" I don't look at him, resisting the urge to check on him. He's the youngest of the team. The newest too. Though this isn't his first mission.

"Yes, sir. What do you want me to do? "

"Grab the weapons and ammo off the bodies and tell what we have left. Check their canteens. Take their tags."

Teddy shimmies back out of harm's way. Or at least I want to believe he's safer.

Willoby pings the Italian vehicle twice.

There's a glint of metal or glass near a tire, then a head pokes around. I take a couple of rapid shots, and then my rifle clicks uselessly. "Bollocks. I'm out."

Teddy passes me a rifle. "Half."

I nod as I take the weapon.

Willoby shoots again, this time at the tire I shot at.

The Italians are either all dead or not falling for it a second time.

I lower my head, not sure what to do, while praying for inspiration. The longer we wait, the less time we have to make it to the cave, but if we get up and run, we're easy to pick off. There are things in the vehicle that we can't let fall into enemy hands. But if the Italians kill us, they will have to run for the caves to survive the storm too.

Will they waste time searching the vehicle or leave it?

The odds of us surviving are whittling down with each passing minute.

There are extra water canisters on the vehicle, assuming they haven't been shot, but lugging an extra twenty kilos to the cave will make us slow. Without the extra water rations, it will be tight but doable if the storm moves on. Once it passes, we can grab the extra water then.

There's no point in trying the radio until the storm has passed.

I need two things before hiding in the caves.

"We're going to grab the satchel and med kit." I check out the vehicle through the scope, looking for anything else that might be useful. We'll be out here all night. It's going to grow cold. "And the camouflage netting. We'll need to make a fire to keep warm. Then run like the devil wants to fuck you and hope the caves are deep enough to hide in."

I curse the war, the sand, and the Italians for spotting us while we fixed a blown-out tire.

"And there's half a bottle of vodka in the glove box." The special forces guys we dropped off in Libya gave it to us for dropping them off at a well in the middle of fucking nowhere. We know where the wells are and how to cross into enemy territory without being caught. Everyone's luck runs out at some point.

I curse myself. Why did I volunteer for this?

To escape my past.

And it was all going fine until Teddy showed up, all smiles and lanky limbs. The way he looks at me…it's like he doesn't care what people will think.

Willoby whistles. "Better than water."

The whistle draws fire. Willoby and I fire a half dozen bullets, but there's no sign that any of them were effective.

"I can't see shit." The sand is not helping. But if we're struggling, so are they. If we're counting bullets, so are they. I roll onto my back, rifle on my chest. I touch the pistol on my hip.

Teddy is right by me, handing me a magazine.

I tuck it into my belt. "How many more do you have?"

"Two."

"I want you to stay here and cover us. Then we'll cover you."

Teddy nods. The look of trust and admiration is heartbreaking. Does he not realize how deep the shit is? Does he really believe I can save us?

"Willoby, with me," I call out. I can't whisper now as the wind is snatching away my voice .

"On your call, boss."

I bristle but don't say anything. This isn't a sheep station. It's Sir or Brown. Though I would give anything to be back home for just a few moments. A few breaths of cool, damp air and the scent of eucalyptus in the morning. A kookaburra laughing, calling the rain.

When I left, I never wanted to go back.

Yet here I am, wishing for it, praying I'll have the chance.

I signal to Willoby, and then we're up and running before I can talk myself out of this madness. We make it to the marginal cover of the vehicle body. I check the pulse of the man on the ground even though the blood-soaked sand makes it's clear he's dead. No one loses that much blood and lives without a transfusion and surgery to patch the leak.

There's nothing out here except things that want us dead.

I keep my head down as I reach in and grab the satchel and the med kit while Willoby grabs the netting, which is stowed in a bag.

Shots kick up the sand, and I hunker next to a tire. That I give them as much concern as I did the flies back home should bother me.

"Motherfucker," Willoby shouts as he rolls over onto his belly, shooting and screaming like he's after revenge. Blood seeps through his pants.

I beckon Teddy over; he needs to move while Willoby is providing a distraction. Teddy slides over the rocks and sprints across the sand like the wind is helping him. He's fast on his feet.

When he slides in next to me, he's breathing hard but unscathed .

I give him a nod. "Good lad."

The shooting stops. The only sound is the shrieking of the wind as it whistles through the vehicle. I turn to check on Willoby.

Fuck. He's dead. He crawled too far out to take the shot.

"This satchel cannot fall into enemy hands." I pat the leather. We'd been the first vehicle in the convoy before the tire blew out. The others continued because we'd catch them up. The repair hadn't taken long, a few minutes, just long enough for them to spot us, even though there'd been no reports of enemy soldiers. Long enough for the storm to spring up and interfere with the radios. If the other two vehicles had waited, we'd have all been caught. Would we have fought off the Italians, or would more have died?

Maybe they were already heading for the caves because of the storm, and it was a combination of bad luck and bad timing.

Wouldn't be the first, and it won't be the last.

It was fate tossing the coin and deciding who lived and who died on any given day.

Teddy gathers up the radio, canteens, and ammo.

We need the netting to burn, or we'll freeze, and I'm not leaving the med kit. Not that it will do any of the men who bled out on the sand any good. If we stay here much longer, it won't do us any good either. The sand will smother us.

I take a couple of breaths, then lunge for Willoby, grabbing his leg and hauling him back. I take his canteen and the netting.

"You were a tough, mean bastard who'd do anything for your mates. You deserved better." I say, even though he can't hear me. It's not quite a prayer, but if God is sitting by watching this shitshow instead of stepping in, he doesn't deserve them .

The little faith I had left before I came here has died in the sand like everything else. I'm going to hell no matter what I do. I glance at Teddy and can't believe that's true. He's not damned.

"There may still be a shooter, but if we don't move now, we may not make it to the caves." The swirling sand is going to make every step that much harder, and I'm exhausted. The heat and fear are sucking me dry. It's tempting to lie on the ground and wait for death.

I made the wrong call, and everyone is dead. But which one was the wrong one?

Was there a different one I could've made?

Teddy watches me like I have all the answers. Like he expects me to find a way out of this mess. All we can do is run and pray, and the latter is useless because no god is listening.

I don't want to see that admiration tarnish because I want more than heated glances. "See that rock? I'll go; you cover. One bullet at a time."

Teddy nods. "It's not far. A couple of hundred meters."

I huff out a breath. "That's a marathon under fire and in a sandstorm."