Read Online Casca 16: Desert Mercenary by Barry Sadler - Free Book Online
Authors: Barry Sadler
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when they returned to the Saharienne.
Monpelier had requisitioned the town's only taxi to take Egon, Roman, and Sims over to the airstrip. The other four followed in the Land Rover. Monpelier's Dakota was inside one of the strip's two hangars. The pilot and co-pilot, Browning 9mm automatics on their hips, were guarding the cargo inside the plane, which was worth a fortune. They stayed with the aircraft while Monpelier paid the taxi and assembled his team.
"I know it's a bit early in the game but I would rather have you all here," he explained. "That way, if anything goes down wrong we'll all be together and not spread out. Inside the plane is the equipment: weapons, uniforms, medical supplies, as well as radios, rations, and water.
“From this time on, guard this plane with your life. That's all from me. Your pilots, Captain Parrish and Co-captain Rigsby, have been briefed. They know what they are to do. In the air your captain is the boss. Other than that you will, of course, do as I said earlier and take your orders from Mr Langer."
Parrish looked over his passengers with a jaded eye. They were a rough looking crew, especially the gorilla beside the one called Langer. Parrish was not unimpressive himself. With wavy, premature pure silver hair, he stood six feet six at 227 pounds. He could carry his own weight in most circumstances, but Gus bothered him. The beast fit no category he had ever seen before. When he watched the big German move he had a sudden urge to offer him a banana, but he wisely resisted the temptation when Gus casually picked up a fifty five gallon oil drum and moved it over to where he could sit on it in the shade. The drum was full.
Carl called Monpelier over to him. "I want to take a look at the gear. Do you have an inventory list with you?"
“ Go right ahead. There is a list in the box marked medical. I'll just wait out here with the others. It's too hot inside the plane."
Before climbing inside the Dakota, Carl told Dominic, "Take Stachel with you and keep an eye posted outside. Let me know if anything looks suspicious or if we're going to have any company.”
Boxes lined the center of the plane, tied down with retaining straps. Looking them over he found the one marked medical. Releasing it from its strap, he opened the box up. On top was the list. He read it over. Monpelier had done good. Cracking the lids on the boxes containing the weapons, he examined every piece. All were brand new. A voice behind him coughed politely.
"I say, would you mind terribly if I had a quick look at my kit? I want to make certain that nothing we might need later has been left out."
Carl nodded at Sims and pointed out the medic box. Sims fluttered over it, humming as he unpacked it, carefully laying everything out in order: antibiotics, battle dressings, salt tablets, a minor surgery kit, and even several IV setups. When he was done he carefully placed everything back in proper order. "Well now, it seems as if it's all here. I do hope that I don't have to put any of it to use but then, it is better to be prepared, what?"
Carl sat down on a box of ammo and said; "Tell me a bit about yourself, Mr. Sims."
The medic cocked an eye and sat down by the open cargo door. "Not much to say really. I've kicked about a bit. Africa with Monty, then a turn or two in the south, Rhodesia and the Congo. You know that wherever you types go, there always has to be someone like me to try and patch you up a bit. I did have two years of medical school, but circumstances dictated that I depart from those hallowed halls. Though I would one day like to go back." He sighed deeply. "Ah, but life takes its own hand in the game and who knows? I am content enough. That's about it, sir."
Carl lit up a smoke, offered one to Sims but was politely refused. "You ever work with any of the others here?" Carl asked.
Sims nodded his head. "Only with Egon. Herr Stachel is not a bad sort. He looks like a bloody Prussian, but he's all right. Does
Monpelier had requisitioned the town's only taxi to take Egon, Roman, and Sims over to the airstrip. The other four followed in the Land Rover. Monpelier's Dakota was inside one of the strip's two hangars. The pilot and co-pilot, Browning 9mm automatics on their hips, were guarding the cargo inside the plane, which was worth a fortune. They stayed with the aircraft while Monpelier paid the taxi and assembled his team.
"I know it's a bit early in the game but I would rather have you all here," he explained. "That way, if anything goes down wrong we'll all be together and not spread out. Inside the plane is the equipment: weapons, uniforms, medical supplies, as well as radios, rations, and water.
“From this time on, guard this plane with your life. That's all from me. Your pilots, Captain Parrish and Co-captain Rigsby, have been briefed. They know what they are to do. In the air your captain is the boss. Other than that you will, of course, do as I said earlier and take your orders from Mr Langer."
Parrish looked over his passengers with a jaded eye. They were a rough looking crew, especially the gorilla beside the one called Langer. Parrish was not unimpressive himself. With wavy, premature pure silver hair, he stood six feet six at 227 pounds. He could carry his own weight in most circumstances, but Gus bothered him. The beast fit no category he had ever seen before. When he watched the big German move he had a sudden urge to offer him a banana, but he wisely resisted the temptation when Gus casually picked up a fifty five gallon oil drum and moved it over to where he could sit on it in the shade. The drum was full.
Carl called Monpelier over to him. "I want to take a look at the gear. Do you have an inventory list with you?"
“ Go right ahead. There is a list in the box marked medical. I'll just wait out here with the others. It's too hot inside the plane."
Before climbing inside the Dakota, Carl told Dominic, "Take Stachel with you and keep an eye posted outside. Let me know if anything looks suspicious or if we're going to have any company.”
Boxes lined the center of the plane, tied down with retaining straps. Looking them over he found the one marked medical. Releasing it from its strap, he opened the box up. On top was the list. He read it over. Monpelier had done good. Cracking the lids on the boxes containing the weapons, he examined every piece. All were brand new. A voice behind him coughed politely.
"I say, would you mind terribly if I had a quick look at my kit? I want to make certain that nothing we might need later has been left out."
Carl nodded at Sims and pointed out the medic box. Sims fluttered over it, humming as he unpacked it, carefully laying everything out in order: antibiotics, battle dressings, salt tablets, a minor surgery kit, and even several IV setups. When he was done he carefully placed everything back in proper order. "Well now, it seems as if it's all here. I do hope that I don't have to put any of it to use but then, it is better to be prepared, what?"
Carl sat down on a box of ammo and said; "Tell me a bit about yourself, Mr. Sims."
The medic cocked an eye and sat down by the open cargo door. "Not much to say really. I've kicked about a bit. Africa with Monty, then a turn or two in the south, Rhodesia and the Congo. You know that wherever you types go, there always has to be someone like me to try and patch you up a bit. I did have two years of medical school, but circumstances dictated that I depart from those hallowed halls. Though I would one day like to go back." He sighed deeply. "Ah, but life takes its own hand in the game and who knows? I am content enough. That's about it, sir."
Carl lit up a smoke, offered one to Sims but was politely refused. "You ever work with any of the others here?" Carl asked.
Sims nodded his head. "Only with Egon. Herr Stachel is not a bad sort. He looks like a bloody Prussian, but he's all right. Does
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