Illegal Possession

Illegal Possession Author: Morlock Title: Illegal Possession Universe: The Hotel Summary: The Prequel to The Hotel Universe Keywords: MF+, FF+, bd, tort, slavery, real Edited 10/01/12 Book 2 --------------- A town on the West African Coast My rescuers, Abasi and his sons, were back at their traditional livelihood - fishing.  That left me and my three females to wait until something came up to get us the hell out of here.  There wasn't much to do but walk around as a tourist.  Which meant that there wasn't much to do.  I found a shop that sold clothes of a sort, and got three cheap cotton dresses for the girls.  And a set of footware that wouldn't be called shoes in my country.  The clothes weren't because I thought the girls needed their cracks and tits covered up - hell, all the women in this place wore almost nothing - but for sun protection.  By noon, this part of the world was hot as hell and unprotected white skin would last about thirty minutes before receiving fatal burns. There wasn't a rubber to be had in the place.  Actually, I seriously doubted that the natives would even recognize what it was if they saw one.  So, even though I filled in some of the time by screwing my girls, I had to be careful.  I either yanked my rod out before the girl's pussy got a load, or just used the rear entrance.  By now, both of the white girls could accept me in the rear without major pain, but they still didn't like it.   And of course, Nibbie didn't care which hole I used.  For an act that I would probably have considered disgusting in my earlier life, I was really turning in to an aficionado of the back entrance sex. Yes, I had finally, after much sign language hand waving and pointing back and forth, had determined that name was what she called herself.  At least, that is as close a spelling as I can come to the unfamiliar moniker.   The American girl had told me her name on the boat and the other I just called Frenchee, although I knew she was tagged with Corinne. In the evenings, the boat would come in with the day's catch of fish, which would then need to be gutted and hung on the drying racks.  That was the job of everybody in the household except for Abasi and myself.  He had two female slaves, of an unguessable age, but probably between twenty and thirty.  They were as black as Nibbie so apparently they came from inland somewhere.  He offered us lodging in his house until we found some way of getting away from here and, very quickly, I realized that my host's hospitality needed to be repaid. So, I offered my three girls as workers.  It took a couple of days for the two white girls to get used to standing naked, ankle deep in fish guts without shuddering at the squishing sound under their feet, but now they could scale and haul buckets as well as his slave girls.  During the day, they did whatever his woman needed help to do.  And if it wasn't done right, she had a handy switch to emphasize any failings that might be apparent. The lash ruled in this little village.  Many times I would hear loud screams or cries of pain as some unfortunate servant was being punished with the rope.  The interesting part to me, was that even if the person was being disciplined in full view - say, some courtyard - the locals that were passing by didn't even give it a glance.  This definitely wasn't Brooklyn. A trading boat came in, about a week after our arrival.  I walked down to the dock to look over the vessel and its apparent Arab crew. That evening asked Abasi his opinion.  He violently shook his head.  "Nein, das ist ein Piratenschiff ist.  Your throat would not last the first night and your slaves would be staked out on the deck for the crew." Pirates?  Well, why not?  It would take more than a pirate ship to surprise me now in this part of the world. By now the Liberty ship would be listed as missing and my boss, Richard, would be wondering what happened to his cargo.  And the man that he had just hired to guard it.  But, that was something that was out of my control.  Hopefully, I would be able to explain in depth someday.  If my bones didn't wind up bleaching somewhere in Africa. --------------- Two weeks later I was sitting outside the local tavern drinking tea.  The beer that was served here was strictly horsepiss.  I couldn't even stand the smell of it, let alone the taste.  Hell, it wasn't even strained - it had to be drunk through a straw to avoid the husks of the grain that floated on top.  Not exactly the clear, pasteurized 3.2 beer that I was used to. Now, by using the word 'tavern', I don't want to give the impression of some quaint little German bierstub or English pub.  This was a mud hut with a low wall around a dirt floored courtyard.  Fronds of some leafy plant made a roof to keep out the sun.  The Arab looking owner apparently had missed his bath this month, as did the single "bar girl", which is a generous description of a filthy, half naked female who brought the drinks.   I made it plain that I wanted the tea to be boiling when it was brought to me.  That gave me at least a fighting chance of not ingesting bugs that my body had never had to fight off before. Anyway, as I was sipping the hot beverage, suddenly the little place was engulfed with men - about a dozen or so.  All black, and each carrying a rifle and a very long knife - actually a machete, it appeared to be.  Bolt action British army guns, as near as I could tell.  And not exactly in the condition that a drill sergeant would like to see.  Following them came a non-black, obviously an Arab from his brown skin and garments.  In fact, he looked just like a movie Arab - towel headdress and all. He was surprised to see a white man sitting at one of the tables and stopped to look me over.  I just looked back with a neutral expression.  Finally, he asked, "Sie sind Deutscher?" I shook my head.  "Nope.  I'm from the States." "Ah.  Americane.  We don't see many of your compatriots here."  His English was good and with a British accent.  "Let me get my men their drinks and I will join you, if you will permit." I nodded.  Soon, his crew was sitting at the tables, each with a large clay drinking mug.  He came back with the same and sat across from me.  Obviously, he wasn't a pious Arab.  I was pretty sure that they were forbidden to drink alcohol. "So...  As I said, you are a visitor for this part of Africa." It was a question, pure and simple, without the question mark.  "A shipwreck," I replied.  "Myself and three women are all that survived.  I'm supposed to be in Aden by now.  You?" He slurped for a few seconds.  "I have a coffle of merchandise for Mombasa."  I had no clue what that word meant - yet - but I assumed it was a train of mules or the like.  "So, let me guess." he continued.  "You want to get to Kismayu or Masati."  It wasn't a guess - it was a statement.   And it was said over the sudden sounds of a lash hitting skin and screams of some female in the building.   Once again, I marveled at the fact that neither the Arab nor his men even gave an indication that they heard the unfortunate being punished.  Again was the thought that I was a long way from Brooklyn - a LONG way.  At the moment, I didn't even have a clue just how far it really was. He pointed to the M1 Garand that was slung over my shoulder.  I had quickly learned that in this country, you needed to get across the idea that you weren't some helpless target waiting to be hit.  Here the strong ruled.  "Can you use that?" he asked. I put my glass down.  "There are a few bodies underground in Europe that could vouch for that."  And one at the bottom of the ocean, but I didn't mention that one. "And I'm still here." More slurping through the straw.  "I'm taking my merchandise up the coast.  Another man is always helpful." Another gunman is what he was obviously saying. More talking.  Ramiz was his name and he was a slaver.  There was no other word for it.  I sat there in disbelief as he described his line of work. He and his men would enter the bush, sneak up on a small encampment, and proceed to capture any and all that might be of value in other parts of the world.  I asked about the willingness of the victims to become slaves, and he assured me that any who gave trouble were just shot down on the spot.  That made most of the the rest passive, since it was spears against guns.  "Where do they go?" I asked.  "I mean, where do you take them?  Who buys real slaves in this day and age?" He swilled another mouthful and laughed.  "Hell.  They bring a premium all over this part of the world.  The desert kingdoms can't get enough, but they go to just about everywhere except for the Americas and Europe." I sat back and sipped my tea, then realized that I had gulped it down and the cup was empty.  I didn't want any part of his business.  I had captives also, but they weren't going to get lashed with a bull whip, or branded.   Or shot.  However, the fact remained that we were stranded in the wrong part of the world and if I had to dance with the Devil to get out, then I couldn't complain about what music was being played. At this point, I saw another sight that emphasized the fact that I was a long long way from home.  The bar girl - or tavern maid, or whatever her job description was in this part of the world's asshole - was talking with one of the men who had swarmed in with my table partner.  Shortly, she held out her hand to take a coin, then backed up to the wall and lifted one leg to put a foot on top of one of the stools that passed for chairs in the place.   Like the man, she was just wearing a wrap around...  a skirt or something, although hers was much longer than his.  And like all women I had seen, she was bare breasted.  From the lack of droop, she must have been fairly young. Both lifted the front of their... apparel, he stepped up to her and shoved his rod in her cunt and pumped away.  They could have been discussing the weather for all anyone bothered to watch.  Except for me, of course.  I wasn't totally goggle eyed at the first public display of sex that I had ever seen, but... They finished, and another man got up and made his deal.  His member followed the same path as his comrade.  Then another.  Her pussy must have been iron clad.  I wondered if she would take on the entire dozen or so patrons in the band, but she didn't.  After the third, she dropped her skirt and headed back inside the building. Once again I tried to drink tea from an empty cup.  Yep, I had definitely avoided a boring paperwork job in the States.  The problem was, that if I ever got back to Brooklyn, none of the guys was going to believe a single story that I told.  Hell, by then, I probably wouldn't believe them either. So, I signed on for the single leg to Kismayu. --------------- Morning I was wishing that I had risked the supposed pirate ship.  This wasn't even remotely what I had imagined in my wildest nightmares.  Ramiz said that he had slaves.  Ok, that meant a bunch of men and women that had chains on their feet and were marched down the road.  Hell, I well knew what they looked like from the movies. Like shit I knew!  My supposed knowledge was like the young kid who's been told that his little dog has gone to Heaven, then accidentally sees the bloody pulp left behind by the truck's wheels.  It was a long chain - four dozen or so - of misery.  Chained by the neck with wide metal collars, many were injured, more had been lashed for whatever reason, and all were carrying heavy bundles of food and supplies.  If any suddenly decided that he wasn't going to put up with the treatment any more, he was just shot, unchained and left for the vultures.   I had seen death for several years.  I had even caused it more times than I could count.  And I had had major problems keeping my lunch down after touring a Nazi extermination camp, even with many others all around me not being as successful. But this...  My girls were at the rear of the column.  Not chained, but just walking along behind the last member of the coffle and in front of the last guard.  And me.  At night, the chain would be attached a tree, or two if another was available, the men would make camp with a fire for cooking, and pieces of smoking meat would be thrown to the starving line.   Then a water bucket would be taken down the line by the youngest guard and the unfortunates watered. The females were all together at the end of the chain and if another tree was available, the chain was split and the women tethered away from the men.  Otherwise, they were just on a loose chain for the night, monitored by the guard on watch.  That prevented the male slaves from accessing them during the night.  And it also helped in the last activity before bedtime.  The females would be towed over to the sleeping area, then the men would take their pick.  Sometimes a few would have more than one, just laying there in the dirt next to their fellow doing the same thing to the next girl. After the second night, the men had found a pair of females that they preferred - young, with big and high tits, big hips and narrow waists.  They were taken loose from the chain and literally staked out on the ground in a full spread eagle position.  At least, Ramiz laid down the rules that prevented the men from just tearing into them - they were limited to servicing 'only' four or five men each.  Of course, he wasn't worried about the feelings of the girl, just in keeping her value from decreasing. For me, I didn't even screw my own girls, let alone the dirty and naked women of the chain.  I probably couldn't have gotten it up if I had tried.  The smell alone from the unwashed captives would floor any Westerner.  The first night, it occurred to me that my three females were prize catches if something should happen to me.  Nonetheless, I had to sleep, but I always made my bed at a distance from the campfire and the guards and chain.  I instituted a girl watch.  If that sounds ridiculous, it wasn't to the girls.  I pointed out - at least to the pair that could understand me - what would happen to them if something happened to me.  Like probably being fucked immediately by every man in the guard, and then put in the chain when the fun and games were over.  That not only got their attention, but the idea horrified them.  One of them stood guard - literally standing so as not to drop off - in turns throughout the night.  Even Nibbie got the idea, but because she had no concept of time by my watch, she always had to stand the last one, the early morning to dawn stint. It wasn't that big of a problem, since they were usually so tired they dropped off to sleep as soon as we made camp, which was usually an hour before sundown.  Ramiz and I usually talked for a couple or three hours, so that there were only about seven hours left of darkness which made only about two hours and some minutes that each had to stay awake. He asked me about the war in Europe and I asked him about... his business. I had asked him about the legality of hauling actual slaves from country to country and did the authorities look the other way or what? "The main problem is the British Navy," he replied.  "They've been patrolling African waters trying to stop the trade for several hundred years.   Sometimes they catch a boat, but it's seldom that they find slaves."  To my questioning look, he went on like he was discussing a particular football maneuver.  "These boats, they are disguised as fishers, traders, anything.  But the slave hold is usually hinged at the bottom and with a lever the master can open it quickly.  With chains, the slaves go down quickly and the British, if they board, find nothing." Fortunately, it was dark and the fire was down so he couldn't see my expression of... of... well, I don't know, but I was struggling with the fact that this bastard was talking about human beings like they were so many rats to be exterminated.  If that was the measure of the civilization of this part of the world, then the Devil could have it and them. Then...  As I lay back to sleep, I had to remind myself, that compared to the regime that exterminated no telling how many millions of innocent men, women and children in Europe during the last war, in what was supposedly the center of world civilization, these men were amateurs.  Maybe the Devil should just take all of us. --------------- Five days out I was enjoying the sights along the primitive trail.  I had seen animals that only existed in a few zoos and pictures in books in my county.  Our zoo had a few lions, some elephants and rhinos and so forth - all of which were poor and half dead specimens.   Here, I saw herds of giraffes, elephants, deer and cattle of all kinds.  Lions, wart hogs - well, you get the idea.  It was fascinating.  Some of the herds had thousands and thousands of animals.  It was quite a sight for a city boy.  While watching all wildlife, I could almost forget the chain of miserable humans that I was guarding.  Guarding.  From whom, I had no idea. --------------- Night I heard Frenchee shriek, then a gunshot.  Bang!  Four years ago, as a sleeping civilian, I would have been a dead man already.  But after a year and a half of honing my reactions from Normandy to the Rhine river, I instantly, and before I was even awake, had rolled sideways, over twice then up on my knees, the .45 already sticking out in front of me.  The descending blade had hit the ground where I had been sleeping and, as the man pulled it out of the dirt, my bullet made a half inch hole in his chest and a six inch one in his back.    I was still low to the ground, and hard to see, but from my position, I could easily spot, silhouetted against the starry sky, another man running toward me.  I guess he assumed that his companion had done the shooting and was hurrying over to claim his share of the three girls.  This shot was easy and unhurried and he fell next to his fellow.  By now the girls were on their feet and screaming - until I whacked all three across their faces and whispered to shut up.  I couldn't see any others at the moment - I always slept far away from the campfire for several reasons, one of which was now apparent.  However, I had been more worried about one of the prisoners - I had trouble with that other word - getting loose and throttling me in revenge.   Quickly, I made a decision.  I picked up my rifle and bag, I whispered for them to follow me and we moved sideways from the trail.  In a minute or so there was some more shooting, but I couldn't tell if it was at us, or someone else.  Several hundred feet from the trail, we settled behind a bush to wait.  I warned the girls to dead silence.  It would be easy to see or hear anyone coming through the bush towards us.  We waited. --------------- Daylight The encampment was up at dawn, as usual, and with the normal amount of shouting and ruckus.  I knew that the men would feed on the cold meat from last night, then move off.  The slaves would get nothing.  I waited until the procession disappeared in the distance, then stood up and walked back to our encampment, the girls following.  What I found wasn't what I expected.  My assumption was that Ramiz had ordered me knocked off to take my three girls.  But...  here he was, shot in the face still laying on his sleeping blanket.  His other problem was that his face was several feet from the rest of him.  Beheaded for fun, I guessed.   Beside him were three others, one of which I knew was his straw boss, or sergeant or whatever - the man in charge of the squad of men.  That, in addition to the pair of corpses laying in my old sleeping position, made six.   That put a different light on the situation. I heard a retching sound behind me and turned to see Marylyn on her hands and knees.  Since she had had no breakfast, it was all dry heaves, but her stomach wasn't making the distinction.   Frenchee was green, but was keeping it in with her hand over her mouth.  Nibbie was just wide eyed. It had to be a mutiny.  Apparently, this crew thought that they could get a much better paycheck if they just took over the business.  And they no doubt assumed that, by knocking off the white man - me - they would also have three more prime sets of tail that they could both use and sell.  I was surprised that an old hand like Ramiz, who probably had been doing this since he grew balls, was taken this way.  His traitorous crew had probably been hatching the plan for days. Our campsite, as usual, had been next to a sink for water, and their sleeping area had been under the canopy of a big kabob tree.  There were still a few kasaba melons left at the perimeter that the guards hadn't eaten.  I'm making all these descriptive words up, based on what I was told they were called.  I doubt the words are in a dictionary, anywhere. I pointed to one of the little round fruits, then to Nebbie and said, "Get melons."  By now she was picking up a little pidgin English and immediately walked away to gather breakfast.  To Frenchee, I said, "Start picking up sticks for the fire." I looked far up the road to where the bastards had disappeared.  Nothing.  Finally, I walked over and pulled my starlet off the ground to a standing position.  She had stopped her praying to the ground, but still didn't look like exactly like she was ready for a movie audition.  "Watch the road," I ordered, pointing into the distance.  Yell if you see any movement.  Any at all.  Understand?"   She nodded. The terrain hereabouts was fairly flat, with rocky outcrops at rare intervals.   The entire area was covering with waist high grass, golden in color with one of the big canopy trees here and there.  Far in the distance, I could see a head of deer - gazelle, Ramiz had called them.  One more glance at the horizon, and I headed into the grass. A half hour later, I was within range of the herd of animals and got lower in the grass and moved along, bent over.  Finally, I rose very slowly and inspect the fringes of the herd.  I selected a young specimen, raised the M1, aimed and fired.  The target just fell over, as I expected. I obviously didn't have time to hang and drain my quarry, even if I had had rope and a convenient tree, so I just quickly cut out the hams and hauled ass back to the campsite. Frenchee had a good pile of sticks gathered and I stirred the coals of the old camp fire, and tossed on some more kindling.  "Build the fire up." I ordered the girl.  We had to move.  The sun was well up and it was going to get hot in a hurry.  And we had no way to carry water.  I wasn't too worried.  So far, we had come upon numerous sinks and low spots with water, although it wasn't always all that appealing.  Apparently, this was the end of the rainy season.  Where to?   Hmmmm.  The obvious path was was to follow the bastards on the original trail.  I certainly didn't want to return to the little village that we had come from.  All that would do is put us right back in the stranded position.  Besides it was several days away by fast walking.   As I began to cut the meat into thin slices on a rock, I thought about our options. They hadn't even tried to find us. That was suspicious in itself.  They had to be operating in the assumption that we would follow the trail in the way we had been going.  We were strangers in this land, white - well, three of us - but whites in a land where there were very few whites.  We wouldn't just take off across country away from the trail.  That was a guaranteed way to get lost for good.  We probably wouldn't go back.  I doubted that Ramiz had told his crew where or why we were traveling with them, but it was obvious we wouldn't be walking this trail unless we wanted to get to Kismayu.  I stuck a bunch of the slices on a long stick and handed it to Frenchee.  "Hold these over the fire, but don't let them burn.  I want them dried, not cooked." Back to slicing more meat, I continued my thoughts.  If I were in charge of that group, I would put a couple of riflemen in ambush and wait for us to appear down the road later.  Shoot me and take the girls.  I would almost bet that was the plan. Soon all three girls were drying meat on sticks.  If I had some salt, it would make much better jerky, but wishing wasn't going to help us.  We didn't have a bag or container of any kind.  The only thing that the guards had left was bodies.  So, I cut some thin strips from the bottom of the girls dresses and tied the strips of meat into bundles.  It was ten o'clock, local time by my watch.  We had eaten all of the remaining melons for breakfast and I got ready to move. "Drink all the water you can hold," I ordered, then got down and did just that myself.   Once we were finished, Marylyn asked, "Master.  Can I bathe?" I don't know where the 'Master' started coming from.  I assumed that they learned to use it while working at the fish racks and in the employ of Abasi's woman.  I certainly didn't tell them to use it.  Anyway, we had all day, so I said.  "Yes, go ahead." She stripped of her dress, entered the waist deep water and began to scrub herself as best she could without soap.  I pointed to the other to then motioned them into the water.  They didn't argue, just waded in and sat down to a bath.  I decided that wasn't a bad idea.  I didn't exactly smell like a bed of roses, myself, so I took one long look around, especially down the road, shucked off my clothes and waded in.  They were also washing their dresses so I just threw them my clothes and let them launder my stuff also. In a few minutes, we were dressed again and dripping, but clean and refreshed.  I gave each girl a bundle of jerky, and led them out to the trail.  Looking around again, I started a fast walk, back the way we came.  The girls just followed along. --------------- A mile or so down the road. We crested a slight rise, then, as soon as we had moved down the reverse slope a ways, I turned off the trail to a canopy tree a few hundred yards away.  There I told the girls to sit down and rest - sleep if they could - and I slowly moved back up the little slope to a point that I could just see back the way we had just come. I was assuming that someone would have been concealed up the road and watching the campsite for us to return.  By going the other way from their marching direction, I hoped to convince any watchers that we were heading back to the little fishing village.  They wouldn't waste time watching any more once we disappeared over the horizon. As I sat down beside the girls in the shade, Frenchee asked, "What happened back there, Master?"  I explained my theory on the incident.  Then we just relaxed.  I got up to check on the trail - both directions - every hour or so, but I didn't expect to see anyone. The girls lay back and napped until afternoon, then I set them to watch while I got some shuteye.  I had a very busy night planned. --------------- Sundown We were on the road, going northeast, following the slave coffle.  Shortly we came to the original campsite and I called a halt to eat.  We had water there and I had no idea when we would find more.  Each of us ate a slice of the ersatz jerky and once again, I told everybody to drink all they could hold.  Then it was on the trail again at a route step - a fast walk.  With orders to keep an absolute silence. The waxing moon was behind us and it reminded me that it had been a month since our shipwreck.  Knowing that the coffle made about ten miles a day, I didn't expect to catch up before about two or three am.  The rifle was locked and loaded and carried with the sling holding it level and ready to use.  I didn't expect anyone to be waiting for us, but at least it was an even match if I stumbled on some rear guard. About one am, I began to pause at the rises that we came to, to look ahead for any sign of the caravan, so to speak.  All I had was starlight, but it was sufficient to see the white trail for several dozen feet ahead.  Of course, I wouldn't see a person until I almost bumped into them, but that isn't what I was looking for. Then, about three am, I crested a ridge and saw what I wanted to see.  Off in the distance was a spark.  Just a point of light, but unmistakable in the universe of darkness that was all around us.  It was the dying campfire of the slave procession.  I called the girls together and explained what was in front of us and once again, the need for complete silence.  Nibbie didn't understand the explanation, but did understand the necessity of quiet. We continued up the trail until we got within maybe a quarter mile of the new encampment, then I took a path at right angles to the trail.  It took an hour or more, but we managed a long circle around the campfire and finally came out on the trail ahead of the procession.  Then we took off again, at the same fast pace.  At sunrise, we kept going as I looked for a good place to rest.  In one of the draws, we crossed a small stream and stopped for a breakfast - again, a slice of meat for each and then tanked up with water.  Then it was back on the trail. Finally, I found the terrain I was looking for.  The trail passed through a three or four mile long stretch of flat terrain, with nothing but ankle high grass and a couple of trees to break up the emptiness.  At the far end, the trail went over another crest and had a convenient canopy tree just on the other side.  This was it.  I told the girls to relax under the tree while I reconnoitered the crest of the hill.  Shortly, I had found a rocky projection that would both allow for observation of the trail, and protection from flying lead, should any come my way. --------------- Mid morning Finally.  Far in the distance I could see the snakelike procession trudging down the trail.  I knew that there were only six or seven guards left after the slaughter of the night before.  Seven to one.  I liked the odds.  This was perfect.  I was on a low ridge looking back along the trail - the guards were in an area of absolutely no cover whatsoever.  And I had a rifle known to have a long and accurate range. And, I had used this rifle in real combat, or one just like it.  I suspected that those bastards out there had never used one for anything but murdering innocents who were armed with rocks and sticks. My problem was that I had one clip - seven rounds, with one short that was used on the meat - for the M1.   I had to let them get close enough to make my shots accurate.  I had seven bullets for my .45 but that was useless at the ranges I was planning to engage at.  Make that six - one was in the sailor that I had shot on the lifeboat. I waited.  This was no different than my time in the Bulge.  We were short on ammunition there also, so we waited until the enemy got within no-miss range.  Finally, the front of the column began to climb the shallow slope of my ridge.  Two guards were leading the column, and one in the rear.  The other three were scattered up and down the chain, probably passing the time by using their whips for entertainment. It was showtime.  I carefully laid the far guard - at the end of the column - into the middle of the sight, took a deep breath and slowly squeezed the trigger.  The bang surprised them.  The didn't know where it came from and since the guard I was aiming at went down like a sack of wet shit, they didn't realize that one of their fellows had been hit.  They dropped to their knees and scanned for the unknown enemy.  It didn't help.  Another bang and another guard flew backward into the dirt - this one was - had been - the furthest from me, not counting his fellow that was already dead. They still didn't know where the shots were coming from, but they returned fire anyway.  In all directions.  I didn't even bother to duck.  The odds of them hitting me by blind firing were a million to one, especially since I was virtually invisible among the rocks and with nothing showing but the end of a rifle and just enough of my head to allow my eye to look down the sights. Now they were prone on the ground, except for one who stayed on his knees for to get a better look.  That was a bad move.  I put the sights on his chest and in a second he was stretched out dead.  Now, they knew were I was and the bullets were singing off the rock. I just hunched down and waited for the firing to end.  Based on what I had seen during our travel, they only carried a couple dozen rounds or so.  At the rate they were firing, they would be out in short order. As the firing slackened like I knew it would, I peered around the boulder.  They were still prone on the ground but jabbering to each other rather than firing.  I just looked at them down the sights.  I had all day.   In a minute or so, the last guard in the middle of the column suddenly rose to his knees in preparation to move somewhere.  A solid bang and he cartwheeled over backwards.   Two to go and three rounds left in the clip. The last two were the guards at the front of the column.  I could hit them as they lay there, but I waited for a little better target.  They were shooting again, apparently in panic, since nothing was coming close to me.  I didn't even hear any ricochets.  They began to scoot backwards and I knew that the plan was to use the slaves for cover, since there was nothing else on the plain to hide behind.  I aimed and hit one, but it wasn't a kill.  He crawled more slowly but was still moving.  The last unhit guard was now prone behind the slaves at the front of the column.  Now I had a problem.  If he stayed among them, he could drive them back down the trail out of range.  I certainly wasn't going to gun down any of the unfortunates just to get him.  Once again, I'm probably not the most moral person around, but no way would I just kill men for convenience. As it turned out, the problem didn't come up.  The last guard's mistake was forgetting that he wasn't among friends.  I saw the front of the column clump together and thought for a moment that he had ordered them to surround him.  In actual fact, the men in the chain were doing their best to tear him limb from limb.  I needed to remember that the occupants of the chain probably wouldn't automatically look on me as a friend, either. Telling the girls to stay, I stood up and began to walk toward the coffle.  As I passed the wounded guard, I put a .45 round into his head. --------------- Down the hill I stopped at the dead guard at the front of the column, warily watching the slaves who were watching me.  I quickly went through his pockets but found nothing, then, circling around one side, did the same thing with the two lying on that side of the chain.  Ah. One had a water bag looped over his shoulder.  Circling around to the other side, I got another water bag and...  Jackpot! - he had a leather loop around his neck and it was threaded though the big iron key. Carefully, I approached the end of the chain.  This end had the women - about a dozen or more.  The men in the chain were warily watching but not actually threatening me - they well knew what my gun would do.  There were now rifles laying all around the coffle, but no one had made a move to pick one up.  I didn't even know if any of the men knew how to use one. I slowly walked along the chain of women until I came to the first man.  This was just a kid actually, probably sixteen to eighteen years of age.  I slowly reached for his hand, put the key in it, and - holding his hand closed - lifted it and inserted the key into the woman's lock next to him, all the while watching up the line of men.  I turned his hand and the key and the old fashioned padlock fell open.  Then I backed away, hoping that the kid knew what he had just done.  He did.  In ten or fifteen seconds or so, he was free himself, and was moving up the now jabbering column, unlocking as he went. As for me, I hotfooted it out of there and back up the slope to my original ambush rock.  I watched as the now freed slaves circled around their apparent leader, then began to rapidly stride back down the trail in the direction they had come. Back at the tree, my adrenaline rush had stopped and my legs would barely hold me up.  I collapsed on the ground for a few minutes, then made myself get up and moved out on to the trail, my girls in train. --------------- Later We were moving far faster than the coffle had traveled.  I wanted to put miles between us and the ambush site.  I didn't want to be around if the ex-slaves decided to get some of theirs back.  Besides, I had someplace I wanted to be. About an hour before sundown, we came to another camping place with water and some melons growing in abundance.  I had no idea how far the next water might be, so it was better to lose an hour of daylight than have to camp in a dry site. My mood was much lighter than it had been with the slaver column, and it was catching.  The three girls were chattering as they dined on the jerky and the melons.  I doubt that any could understand more than one word in three that the others said, but it didn't matter.  They were enjoying girl talk like they were back home in a cafe.  Even Nibbie was trying her combination of pidgin English and French words.  About sundown, after filling the water bags, we had a communal bath.  Frenchie was just finishing her period, so I knew she was safe and pulled her over to my lap for some long delayed entertainment.  Unlike the cowering and scared French girl that came aboard the Liberty ship, this one had changed.  She giggled and wiggled as I bobbled her tits and fingered her crack.  She even stuck her tongue out at me with a pretend grimace as I stuck a finger up her rear hole.  Screwing underwater never worked for me, so I pulled her over to the flats and laid her back in the cool mud.  She was still giggling as I settled onto her and began to enjoy a slow and steady screwing, knowing that I didn't have to concentrate on pulling out at the last moment.  Nibbie scooted over and, apparently unhappy that the Master hadn't chosen her, wanted to participate.  Since I was halfway to heaven already, I didn't have time for my little black girl's needs, so she took it on herself to find something to do.  That was to begin to finger my asshole with one hand and stroke my shrinking balls with the other.  Laying there on a kidnapped girl and being fingered by another, in the mud of an African sinkhole, lost, a thousand miles from anywhere, it was one of the best orgasms of my life.  Years later, I realized that the negress had been actually stimulating my prostate when she fingered me - a word and organ that I had never heard of at the time. I set the watch, and we rested for the morrow. --------------- Two days later The last of the meat was gone.  I could easily have replaced it, but I knew we had to be getting close to our destination by now. Sure enough, I suddenly stopped at the top of a ridge and gazed into the distance.   Marylyn pointed and said unnecessarily, "I see some people, Master." A village it appeared, but at least a mile off.  Well, standing here wouldn't tell the tale, so we were off, down the reverse slope of the low incline. It was a village, but not of bush savages.  These inhabitants were wearing normal clothes for this area - the men with pants and a shirt and the women with the usual colorful wrap around skirt that left their boobs exposed.  Since the trail went directly though the two dozen or so grass huts, we did also, with me carrying the rifle at the ready, but trying not to look like I was expecting trouble. There had better not be much trouble, I said to myself.  I had exactly one round left in my rifle. The villagers were black natives, tending gardens and pens of goats.  They looked as we passed but otherwise ignored us.  That was fine with me.  I doubted that their past experiences with white men gave them reason to welcome us with open arms.  Shortly, at our fast walk we were through it and up the trail. --------------- Afternoon Finally.  We came to the port town of Kismayu.  It was a hot, dirty and thoroughly primitive town, but compared to the fishing village we had been stuck in, it was almost Manhattan.  The streets were crowded with black natives wearing almost nothing, and brown Arabs wearing full length garb and headdresses.  How the hell someone could wear a robe in this stifling heat was beyond me.  I was wondering what the hell to do as I tried to point our wandering in the direction of the ocean.  A boat was what we needed, and I had to find the port.  Soon I decided that it almost WAS Manhattan.  We had to thread our way through crowds going every which way, all the while fending off offers of every possible item imaginable for sale.   Even little boys were jabbering in broken German and English as they offered us tobacco, souvenirs, treasure maps and their sisters. "Very young.  Very clean, Suh.  Two bits.  Twenty kuruş.  One shilling." Finally, I spotted the mast of a ship over a low building and aimed our walking toward it.  Shortly, we were at the waterfront.  Immediately, I spotted what had to be an Australian dude... er, bloke.  White, but tanned skin, khaki shorts, short sleeve shirt with buttons and the wide brim hat with one side pulled up.  He saw us walking towards him, put down his clipboard and when I raised my hand in greeting he proved he was indeed, from that southern country. "G'day Mate!"  It was a friendly greeting.  The first that I felt comfortable with for weeks. "Hi ya, back," I responded with a smile.  "Name's Tim Rawlins." "Well bugger me with a donger.  A bloddy Yank."  He offered his hand and I returned the firm grip. "Nate.  Nate Simpson." I nodded and he continued. "Where you in from?  I haunt seen a boat come in new in four, five days." I pointed at the girls, then to a section of shade next to a wall.  They sat down.   "Just got in from some little fishing pesthole down the coast.  Long walk.  'Bout twelve days." He looked at me like he had seen a ghost.  Or a blithering idiot. "You bloddy WALKED here?  Through the bush?!  With three sheilas?  Are you bloddy donkers, mate?" "Didn't have a choice.  Couldn't find a ticket office for a boat ride." "Fuck a duck!" He just shook his head.  "How 'bout we crack a brownie inside?"  I had no idea what he was talking about, but he was a potential friend in a place where friends were scarce, so I would agree with just about anything for now.  As he turned to go inside the small building, he stopped and said. "Better bring your sheilas inside.  In this place, they'll be scarfed up in a hurry without you watchin."  Good idea.  I told the girls to follow us, then waved for them to sit against the wall. Inside, he pointed to a table and for me to sit down, opened a flat box against the wall and, wonder of wonders, brought out two brownies - bottles of beer, it turned out - dripping with ice cold water.  I tried not to lick my lips at the thought and took one and the offered bottle opener.  I popped mine and handed it back.  He did the same.  "Learned to like it cold when I was on prisoner detail with a Yank outfit - after the Jerry surrender in North Africa." God, it was heaven.  I never heard of the brand, but it was ice cold and was real beer.  Thats all I cared about.  "You keep greeting guys in this fashion and you'll never run out of friends," I said.  "Thanks." He swigged a good one, then looking over at the girls.  "A bloke comes out of the bush towing three sheilas."  Another swig.  "And not only just a bloke, a Yank.  Which just happens to be scarcer than honest pollies around here."  He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket an offered one to me.  I shook my head. Over the beer, and some more after it, we traded stories.  He was an ivory agent.  He purchased it from hunters, graded it, then sent to to whatever destination wanted to pay the most for it.  He had been a digger - a soldier - also, and had fought back and forth across northern Africa in the early years of the war.  Long before I got in it. "...Rommie would chase our butts across the sand, then we would kick his ass back in the other direction.  Back and forth.  Hell, if you Yanks hadn't come ashore in the west, we'd still be seesawing across the sands."   By the nickname, he meant Rommel, of course.   The German general.  "After it was over, I didn't want to go back to dirt farming.  Got the info about this way to make a quid from a South African bloke.  Bloddy good foxhole buddy.  Saved my onions a couple of times in the sands.  Poor bastid copped a packet at Tobruk." After his discharge, he headed for Capetown, contacted the appropriate person and wound up here, at the business end of the ivory trade.  Making good money, he said.  Enough to open a pub in Sidney in a few years.    I ran though my adventures in the last few weeks, leaving off the more lurid details.  I gave him the impression, without exactly flat lying, that we had just abandoned the slow moving chain of slaves and stepped out on our own.  Once again he gave me his opinion that I was one 'lucky bastid' to have made it across several hundred miles of bush country without falling in with raiders, outlaws, hostile blacks and even lions. At his advice, we set up for the night at local 'hotel'.   Our room was dirt floored with a plank door closed with a rope.  I had to escort the girls to the loo anytime they needed to squat.  Nate had warned me once again, that a white girl would disappear in this town faster than a dropped ten pound note.  On the morrow, we would canvas the boats in the harbor for a possible passage to somewhere. --------------- Aden Finally, two months late, we stepped ashore from the cargo vessel where we had been camping on deck for weeks.  Nate had found a small boat whose owner agreed to take us up the coast to Mombasa for a a few greenbacks.   At that much bigger port we got a South African cargo ship that took us the rest of the way, but not without stopping at several intermediate ports for a day or so each.   The cabin we had been given was so stifling hot that we just took our blankets and slept on the foredeck under a cargo tarp for protection from the frequent showers, but also enjoying the cool breeze from the ships motion.   But, I don't want to give the impression that it was bad. Far from it.  We were now safe again, relatively speaking, assuming that THIS ship didn't sink, the days were pleasant, if hot.   And I got lots of sex.  Usually from all three girls at once.  In my youth, I had heard and fantasized about twosomes and threesomes but never in my wildest dreams did I think I would have my own trio of girls at my beck and call.  Like the captain of my ill-fated first ship had predicted, the three had bonded to me completely.  Somehow their minds had completely blanked out the fact that they were here against their will.   They laughed and babbled to each other and competed to see who could be my favorite girl.   By now Marylyn could speak a little French and Frenchee could answer back with some English.   And Nibbie could jabber in both languages - at least at a pidgin level.  I still had no idea where she came from or what native language she spoke. As we stepped ashore at city of Aden in Yemen, we were met by a British customs official who wanted our passports.  Of course, the girls didn't have any, so I told him the short version of our shipwreck, and he guided me to his office.  Inside was a British naval captain that queried me about our adventures. "The Star of Africa," he repeated.  "Yes, she was reported overdue two months back.  We put out a seatam to ships to be on the lookout for her."  He shouted toward the door.  "Orderly!" An enlisted aide came in, stopped at attention and saluted.  "Yes, Suh!" "Take this to communications."  As the man left, he continued to me, "That will stop the search for the ship.  Our assumption was that pirates had taken her and she was probably somewhere along the African coast, stranded and stripped.   An explosion, you say?" "Yes, Sir," I replied.  The captain said it was a torpedo, but that didn't make any sense to me." He shook his head.  "No.  That would be beyond the bounds of reason.  Sometimes a pirate craft will sneak up at night and put a disabling charge on the stern of the ship to stop it, but with the speed you say the ship foundered, that's beyond anything that could have been attached to the hull on the move.  Especially in a full gale.  How long was it afloat after the explosion?" "No more than ten minutes," I answered. He nodded.  "It could have been a rogue mine.  The gale surge probably broke one loose from its mooring and it floated out to sea from the coastal channel.  The war was over two years ago and all unswept ordinance should have automatically deactivated by now, but seawater will do strange damage to mechanisms.   More often than not."  We talked for another fifteen minutes, until he was satisfied that I had no more information to give. Then he wrapped it up.  "I can have some temporary visa's issued to the women.  That should allow them to travel until they can replace their passports."  I thanked him, collected the girls from the front office and headed back out into the street. --------------- Later This was a big city.  Towering mountains were all around and there wasn't a tree in sight.  Later, I would learn the the city was actually built inside of a dormant volcano.  That was an interesting factoid, but since I wasn't planning on staying round for the lava fireworks, I didn't worry about it. Slavery was illegal here in this British protectorate, but, that didn't mean that slaves didn't exist - they were everywhere.   Only the chains were absent.  By now I had no problem identifying an individual who was working at a task that he or she didn't have the rights to quit work on.  I wondered if the entire Middle East was this way. Following my instructions from months back, when I first got on the ship from the states, I wound through the city, towing my girls, asking directions as I went.  Since the place had been under British control for years, a lot of the citizens spoke English - sort of.   Eventually I came to the tavern I was looking for.  Actually, tavern was a misnomer.  No alcohol in this land - this was a hashish den.  The owner - a very short and underweight man - hurried up to me - white males probably had good money was the local perception.  "Saheib wishes a pipe, suh?" I shook my head.  "No.  I want to speak to Abdul."  That didn't set well.  The little owner's face immediately blanked out.  "No Abdul is known here, suh."  He looked all around to see if anyone was listening.  Not a chance in that place.  All his customers were enveloped in their own haze of...  whatever, euphoria, I guess.  I don't know.  I never tried the stuff. The instructions and directions were plain, and my boss didn't pay to send me an three women halfway around the world as a joke.  I put my hand on the butt of the very evident .45 in my belt and said, "Bullshit.  You know him and he was here.  Now where is he?"   The little man looked around in all directions - I knew that he shouldn't ever play poker - then whispered "Come to my chambers, suh.  This isn't for the ears of all."  I nodded, then waved to the girls to follow and walked behind him though a beaded curtain into an alcove.  A measure of the effects of the drug that was sold in the place was that none of the men even bothered to glance at three beautiful females passing just feet away from where they were sitting on cushions. Inside, he faced me and - again - looked all around.  "Abdul was taken two moons ago." "Taken?  Taken by who?  And why." "The authorities, suh.  The British zalamas... officers.  They do not explain to standerbyers why they do that."  A pause, probably hoping I would leave.  "He has not been seen since." Back in the street, I stood with my back against the wall and the girls beside me.  Now what?   "Let's go," I said to the girls. --------------- The Hotel The naval captain had pointed me to a hotel that catered to westerners.   We had lunch that was only sort of recognizable, but filling, and while the girls napped on that bed I tried to figure out what to do.  Without my contact, I had no idea what to do with the girls.  My only open option was to purchase passage back to La Rochelle and report to Richard.  It would be fine with me - hell, I was seeing the world in the company of three women that were hotter than any of my youth, but I doubted that he would be thrilled to get his merchandise back to square one after several wasted months. I locked the girls in the room and headed back downstairs.  I walked around looking at the sights of yet another different city.  Actually, what I was trying to find was a shop that sold western clothes - all of mine were at the bottom of the ocean and the set that I was wearing was starting to look - well, like it was my only set.   Eventually, I found a used pair of pants and two shirts that were fairly new and mostly fit.  That night, after a good dinner, I had a rousing romp with the three sirens.  What I didn't know was that it would be my last with them. --------------- Morning I was relaxing on the patio of the hotel, looking out over the harbor.  This morning, my plans were to find the office of a shipping outfit and get four return tickets to France.  I had no choice that I could see.  I had plenty of funds - the dollar went just as far here as it did in a little African village - but what was the use of just hanging around a strange city with absolutely no chance of finding the persons to deliver my merchandise to?  A telegram would have solved the problem, maybe, except that I couldn't send one to "Richard, a guy that lives in a big house in Rochelle, France."  Of course, there wasn't a rush, so I could... "Mr. Rawlings?"   I turned around to see a well dressed gentleman standing behind me.  He looked to be an Arab, but he was wearing a western business suit.   "Maybe," I answered.  "Who wants to know?"  I pointed to the chair across from me and he sat down. "My name is Nasim ibn al-Aziz al...   Well, please just call me Nasim."  He smiled.  "Even we have trouble with the full names on occasion."   He lowered his voice, but didn't assume a conspiratorial posture.  "You were looking for Abdul."  It was a statement, not a question. I just looked back at him blankly, although my mind was racing.  My hand was also slowly creeping towards the butt of my gun. "Where did you hear that?  Who's Abdul?" He nodded.  "Very wise, Mr. Rawlings.  This isn't a land where you want to give and take confidences lightly."  British accent, which made sense.  But, I didn't expect to hear a Brooklyn drawl from anyone.  "But, let me give you my bonifides.  You are in the employee of a Frenchman named Richard, left France on the Star of Africa and you have three packages for my employer."  This time he leaned over before speaking.  "Abdul doesn't exist.  He is just a name to give to the owner of that hashish den so he can flag us that someone has arrived.  The reason that you weren't contacted immediately, is that we assumed you to be lost at sea and I was in... well, let's just say I had to travel to get here." Well, so far so good.  He knew enough for me to be fairly certain that he wasn't just making contact because he heard me ask for Abdul in that den.  I nodded.  "Ok, Mr. Nasim.  What do we do next?" "Normally, I would take the packages from you and give you instructions as to your next move, but my factor wants to interview you personally."   Within a half hour, I had gathered the girls, paid my bill and we were in an automobile heading though the streets of the city.  "Might I ask, Mr. Rawlins, where is the ship you sailed on?"   I told him - the short version, not my adventures in the bush - and he nodded.  "Ah.  You are resourceful.  You not only escaped a sinking ship in a storm but managed to save your consorts." "Luck," was the single word I replied with.  I was still on edge with the idea that this might be a setup.  Once again the thought that dead men tell no tales came to the front of my mind.  However, I wasn't going down without a fight.  Before I left the hotel room, I made sure my .45 had a round chambered.  All it needed was to be drawn out of my belt and the safety clicked off.  I might not win, but several people were going down with me. Shortly we were out in the country and on a tarmac road.  Then...  Ah, an airport.  We pulled into the gate past a submachine gun toting guard, then pulled up next to a plane.  I got out and looked around.  This wasn't Idlewild Airport - just a runway and some concrete parking space with a few small planes.  Except for this one.  It was some ancient twin engine...  something.  Our driver opened both doors and we exited, the girls looking around in expectation of...  who knows?  Nasim waved me to the mobile stairs and I shooed the girls up into the plane.  At the foot of the stairs, my guide stopped and said, "Your flight will take about seven hours.  You will be met at the other end."  Apparently he wasn't going. There were no seats, just a flat floor for cargo, which it was full of.  The pilot, or co-pilot, closed the hatch, looked at me and the girls, and headed back to his office without saying a word.  Shortly, we heard the noise and vibration of the engines starting and in a few minutes were airborne. --------------- Somewhere in some desert God!  After seven or eight hours in a bouncing tin box, trying to get comfortable by laying on boxes, we finally arrived.  The time actually seem to pass in days.  Nothing could be seen outside of the windows but just mile after mile of sand.  Wherever the hell we were going, it would be better than this torture chamber on wings. The engines stopped, the copilot opened the hatch, and we descended into the setting sun.  It was at least a hundred degrees out here.  Probably more on the airport...  What the hell.  This wasn't an airport.  It was just a long landing strip in the dirt, with a metal building on one end and a fuel truck sitting beside it.  Looking around, I could see nothing but flat... nothing.  Well, there were a few bumps on the horizon that might be buildings, but... A man in arab robes walked up.  "Mr. Rawlins.  I will take you to the Sheik's compound."  He pointed to a long white car with three doors on the side.    One was open and he gestured with a "Please..."  I picked up my carry bag and entered the car.  He closed the door and shooed the girls into the far back seat.  Then he entered by the other side and said something to the driver.  And we were off. "You had a good flight?"  So, it was time for pleasant chit-chat.  But I wasn't in the mood. "If you don't mind being in a bouncing tin box for half a day, yes."  He spread his hands.  "Alas, the Sheik's private plane is away, otherwise it would have been sent for you."  "Forget it," I replied.  "We're here.  And, by the way, just where is 'here', if I may ask." "Certainly, sir.  Ahead is the compound of Sheik Shahid Hassan." Hmmmm.  I nodded, the asked, "Is he the person who ordered the girls." He shook his head.  "I have no knowledge of the Sheik's business dealings." Ok.  So I shut up and just watched the bumps on the horizon turn into a walled compound.  A fairly large one. Shortly we were through a gate and pulled up to the front of... well, a mansion.  That is all it could be called.  As I got out, I could see that it was surrounded by numerous other buildings of uncertain usage.  But, my reconnaissance was interrupted by a...  butler?  Anyway, an overdressed man who bowed and said, "Please follow me, Mr. Rawlins.  You will want to rest up after your trip."  He took my bag, handed it to a flunky, and rapidly headed back up the stone steps to the front door. The Sheik Hassan, or whatever his name was, wasn't a desert nomad.  It was obvious that he was more akin to King Midas.  The inside of the structure was fabulous.  I had never been in a house - or anything - that was as opulent as this mansion.  I can't even describe the thick rugs, statues, paintings and velvet curtains in proper context.  This was far outside of my experience.  Even the homes of the nobles in France and Germany were shacks compared to this... this...  well, it looked like a museum.  Only, most museums don't leave golden items in full reach of the patrons. And it was cool.  Deliciously cool.  Air cooling was something that I had experienced only in a couple of theaters back in Brooklyn. Down a long hall, then down steps and another long passageway brought us to a huge double door.  My companion pulled both doors open - they were twelve feet tall, at least - then entered with me walking wide mouthed behind.  It was a bedroom, but that word doesn't even begin to describe it.  I had never seen such a room even in the movies.  Huge, tall ceilinged, the large bed was a tiny fixture in the room.  Through a beaded curtain I could see what looked like the bathroom, and it looked to be bigger than the flat I grew up in.  The butler looked around, then turned to me and said, "Please comfortable yourself.  The Sheik has commanded me to tell you that he will be glad to see you in the morning.  For now, please rest yourself.  A meal will be brought."  He bowed and the clapped his hands twice.  With that, he left, closing both doors behind him. As soon as they closed, and before I could even begin to look around in wonder, my eye caught movement in the corner and I looked to see two women hurrying toward me.  The sight of them didn't help me break out of the semi trance that I was in.  These weren't like the three girls that I had just delivered - they were Women with a capital W.   No teenagers, these.  Both were mature females with big breasts and big hips to match.  That they were gorgeous can just be assumed. But that isn't what was capturing all my attention.  They were naked.  Totally.  And by totally, I mean that they were nude all the way from their eyes to their toes.  Except for their eyebrows and long black tresses, they had no hair anywhere.  I had never seen that before, except on a girl too young to be of any use to a man.  And Marylyn, when she first got on the boat.  But hers was already growing back.  The effect on me was ungodly erotic.  As the both hurried up to me, I wondered what was about to happen.  Actually, I already knew what was happening.  My dick had my pants tent poled in no uncertain manner.  But, before I could register embarrassment, they took one hand each and gently towed me toward the beaded curtain.   On the other side was a huge tub, covered with soap suds and obviously steaming hot.  They began to undress me before I could react, and very shortly I was as naked as them.  Neither seemed bothered by my wang swinging back and forth, a danger to anyone who got in its way. What followed was a bath straight out of Hollywood.  Or what Hollywood wished they could display on the screen.  My two sirens bathed me from top to bottom and I discovered that my dislike of sex under water might have been premature.  One of them - Tweedledee I named her, though neither had said a word yet - moved up to my front, spread her legs then settled down onto my lap, with her hand guiding my rod into the proper resting place.   I couldn't move much, sitting on a step in the pool, but she could and as she moved up and down her big jugs bobbled up and down also.   The other woman - Tweedledum - came up behind me, scissored her legs open and ooched up to my back, put her arms around me and squished her big tits against me.   Just to have something to do, her hands began a subtle massage of my chest and neck.   It would have taken someone with far more willpower than me to last very long under those circumstances.  And I didn't.  Soon, I erupted into the woman in front.  Fortunately, being sandwiched between two women kept me from just sliding underwater and drowning with a stupid grin of satisfaction on my mug.  Bath over, and dried to a glowing shine, we moved back into the bedroom.  Lo and behold.  While we were dallying, someone had entered with a large cart of food.  One look at it, and I wondered when the other dozen or so guests would arrive.  It would take that many to eat that much food.  So, I sat on a weird kind of chair that was a just a huge bag that moulded itself to my body as I sat in it.  The girls would bring morsels of food for me to try and in this strange way, had a monstrous meal.   Just another experience that would get me tagged as the world's biggest braggart when I got back to Brooklyn. If I got back.  It occurred to me more than one that this was like the calf being fatted for slaughter.  And the question of why would a nobody from nowhere be treated like royalty by someone that he had never met? --------------- Morning My clothes had been laundered and were ready for me when I woke up.  I lay there for a moment thinking about the wonderfully erotic dream that I had had during my sleep.  One that was so good that I didn't want to wake up.  Then I realized that I HAD woken up and was still in the dream.  My two naked dream mates were laying there waiting for me to rise.  Once I raised up on an elbow, they jumped up and began their no-service-is-to-good-for-me routine.  I drew the line at the morning bathroom ritual.  I didn't need two girls to help me piss and poop.  But, other than that, they got me dressed and fed and ready for...   what? A knock on the door.  "Enter," I called as my two helpmates evaporated instantly.  It was the butler. "Ah, Mr. Rawlins.  One assumes that you passed the night goodly?"  Holy shit!  That was an understatement if ever there was one, but I tried to act casual.  "Yes, thank you.  The service was very good." "Excellent!  Excellent!  The Sheik asks that you join him for morning coffee." "Certainly," I said, wondering what would happen if I refused.  Staked out for jackals, maybe?  "Lead on, Jeeves." Down this hall and that, up several sets of stairs, through one set of doors after another, all the while passing more valuable items than I thought existed in the world, we finally came to a large set of double doors.   Jeeves knocked, received a reply, then opened both doors.  Again.  I wondered at the ritual at required the full opening of a doorway, when either one of the doors would suffice.  That fleeting thought vanished as I entered a plush room with windows all around looking out over the desert.  As the butler waved me in, then closed the doors behind me a middle aged man in full Arab robes walked quickly up to me.  "Mr. Rawlins.  Welcome to my domicile."  I waited to see if he offered to shake hands.  No.  "My name is Sheik Shahid Hassan." "Thank you, Mr. Hassan," I returned, hoping that the Mister was a sufficient honorarium.  "You have found your accommodations satisfactory?" Shit.  What a question. "Yessir.  Most satisfactory." He waved to a huge lounger chair.  "Please sit down.  Coffee?" "Yes.  Thank you."  Interesting.  He poured for both of us, rather than having a flunky do it.  Then he relaxed in front of me. "I have inspected the mozzas you delivered.  They are in excellent condition.  May I enquire as to the delay in your travel plans?  I know that your ship left Capetown at the expected time, and that it never arrived at its destination.  Yet, here you are and with your consignment." Uh-oh.  Was I in trouble for the two month extension on the original schedule?   Ok.  Here goes.  I started with our leaving the South African port on time, then went step by step through our adventures.  He asked a question every now and then, but in the main, just let me tell the tale.  It took almost two hours before I was through. I finished and he sat back and thought about it for a while.  Then, "I understand that this is your first assignment for Monsieur Richard?"  I confirmed that and he went on.  "Then let me congratulate you on a most successful and determined effort on your part to complete your assignment.  You are obviously a man who can think on his feet, to use your American idiom.  You employer's confidence in your ability was not displaced." That brought up a sudden thought.  "Mr. Hassan.  Would there be anyway to contact him?  As far as I know, he still thinks we disappeared completely." "Not to worry.  I have sent a telegram last night to inform him of your arrival.  Of course, he will have no idea of what happened and no doubt has as many questions as myself had.  I will send a message with further details this morning." "Until I hear back as to further missions for you, please considered my home as yours." --------------- Time passes I lolled away the rest of the day in my room with my two roommates.  Once again, I tapped into the resources of the mysterious Middle East, only this time, on the bed.  The two women made any of the girls back home, and even the three that I had hauled across the world, seem like first time virgins.  This pair could work as a team, one stimulating me with her hands and tongue and boobs, while I was inserted into her partner, one way or another.  By afternoon, I knew I was though for the day.  With this pair of vixens, I could still easily grow a hardon, but I knew there was no way my balls were going to go along.   They were empty - dry as the desert outside. When Jeeves came by on his periodic inspection, I had a question for him.  "Is it possible that this place has ammunition for my rifle?" "I will inquire, suh," and left.  As the door closed I realized that he didn't even ask what kind it was. Late in the afternoon, a knock on my door.  Once again, my invitation, "Enter." Of course, it was the butler - Jeeves as I had named him - but as a surprise, there was also a kid.  A young boy, probably seven or eight.  "Mr. Rawlins.  May I present Prince Abdul." Wow.  This had to be the Sheik's son.  "My pleasure," was all that I could think to say.  Drawing room etiquette wasn't in my education.  He said something to Jeeves and the butler shut the door but stayed inside the room.  Of course, my bedmates had pulled their disappearing act the instant they heard the knock. He looked at me for a second, then asked, "You inquired about bullets for your rifle?"   I nodded, the said, "Yes.  I did.  I have only a single bullet left." "Please come with me."   With that we left my bedroom, Jeeves following at a distance, and began a trek far into the building, and under it apparently.  "May I ask you a question, Mr. Rawlins?"  This wasn't some self important rich kid.  He was very polite to a nobody. "Shoot," I said, then immediately followed it with, "I mean, go ahead." "My father says you were a soldier in the war." "Uh... yes, that is correct." "And you fought the Nazis across Faransa and Allemaniyya?" What the hell?  This was a kid asking adult questions.  'Yes, I fought from the shores of Normandy in France all the way to the German Rhine river.  Why..."  I stopped - talking, that is.  In front of us were two women, beautiful and wearing Hollywood costumes like they were in one of those Arabian Nights movies.  Both immediately dropped to their hands and knees the instant that they saw us.  Or, more probably, the Prince.   The Prince and Jeeves didn't even notice they were there.  We passed them, my eyes wide and looking then turned a corner.  I tried to get my thoughts back on track.   Nazis.  War.  "Why are you asking?" "I want to be a soldier.  Like Salaḥ ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub or Khalid ibn al-Walid." Hoo boy.  Now what?  Do I encourage him.  Or talk him out of it?  This was a militant part of the world.  Maybe his dad would want him to become a soldier.  Well, I could only go with what I felt. While we were talking, Jeeves had opened a heavy door at the end of the hall.  The Prince waved me on and we entered.  An armory!  Well, that made sense in this part of the world.  "My father says that you may have whatever you wish."  This was a candy shop for a soldier.  There must have been two or three hundred weapons in the place.  All in proper racks against the wall,   And boxes of ammo.  Boxes and boxes.  Wow again.  I drooled over some of the pieces, but I knew that carrying a BAR around as a personal weapon would not only get heavy, but would definitely garner attention.  The same with assorted automatic weapons.  Besides, if I thought I was going to need a machinegun where I was going, I would change my destination. Across the room I stopped before a big box, turned the two thumb screws on top and took the lid off.  I pulled out four bandoliers - two hundred rounds would be far more than I would need for self protection.  Then I pulled out another, paused, then a sixth.  I probably needed practice by now.  That would give me some extra to practice with. I noticed a pile of magazines to fit my pistol, so I grabbed a handful and a box of ammo.  This was going to make my carry bag fairly heavy, but I would sleep better at night. Prince Abdul pointed to a rack of Garands - really good looking pieces that looked brand new.  "This is the gun you used, Mr. Rawlins?" "Rifle, son.  Rifle."  That came out before I thought about using the diminutive word for the Shiek's offspring.  "Yes, it is.  The finest rifle on Earth." "Then that is the one I will learn to shoot." Woah.  Back to my original problem. "Hold on to that thought, Prince.  Let's go somewhere we can talk." He nodded.  "Come.  We will go to my comasierin."  I have no idea what that word meant, but I nodded.  -------------- The Prince's quarters This wasn't like my room back in the home that I shared with my brother.  Hell, it was bigger than our whole house and just as richly set up as the one that I had been using, except that it didn't appear to have hot and cold running girls.    That made sense given that the boy was only seven or eight.  And like the rest of the house, it was very cool.  How do you provide an entire dwelling with cool air?  In the desert?   Hell, I didn't even know how it was done in the movie theaters back home.  Big cubes of ice?  Jeeves settled back against the door.  His continual presence obviously meant that I was being monitored while with the Sheik's son.  No problem to me - I certainly had nothing planned to piss the big man off.  As I sat down, a cart came though a beaded curtain loaded with liquid refreshment of all kinds.  Colas, coffee, juices.  I didn't notice - I was looking at the cart pusher.  Another ungodly beautiful thing in transparent clothes that hid nothing that moved, jiggled or... I looked at the Prince, then back to the girl as she poured him a glass of juice.  He took it without looking at her and then I realized that it wasn't his age that made him immune to the sights of this household.   Hell, even at the age of seven, I was looking up girls dresses.  No.  A fish in water never notices the water.  Just like the Prince, this was the environment that he grew up in - from the time his eyes first focused, they could see naked women.  To him, they were just as much of the everyday sights as the walls and rugs.  Eventually, his gonads would cause him to realize that he was becoming a man, but for now, they were just convenient servants with jiggly bodies. As I stirred a spoon of sugar into my coffee, he said, "Mr. Rawlins. Now tell me about your landing in France..." --------------- Two days later. I was back in the Sheik's lounge, drinking coffee and watching the morning sun rise over the desert.   He entered, poured himself a cup and walked over to me.  "This is my favorite time of day.  The Sahar gives rise to a new day of the unknown.  And we may not know what it was like until it was over."  He turned away and sat down.  "Thank you for your advice to my son.  All young men consider war to be the ultimate expression of maleness.  The ground is full of those that didn't have a chance to find the error of their beliefs." I just waved my hands.  The Prince and I had talked for hours and I gave him a fairly accurate of my war in Europe - denatured for a young boy, of course.  But I stressed that it was not fun, the glory was lacking, and unless he grew up wanted to be hungry, scared and miserable for months on end, he needed to find another profession.  In fact, I told him that the best way to experience it was to dig a hole outside, fill it half full with water, then sit in it for days, all the while having one of the servants throw rocks at him on occasion.  Maybe it helped. "I have had a communication from Monsieur Richard.  He has accepted an assignment from me for you."  I just nodded.  "It is to escort a woman to a city in Turkey.  She is fully trained and can pass through customs normally, so the usual deceptions will not be required.  Normally we would fly a woman to that country, but the area around Palestine is in ferment at the moment, and the route requires refueling in one of those countries.  I do not wish to lose plane, woman and agent to violence." "From there you will proceed to France and meet with your employer.  I am sure he is anxious to talk to you about your adventures." He paused for a while, all the while looking at me.  Finally, he went on.  "Richard's family has served mine as couriers for generations, and I would never commit an act to place a strain on that friendship.   However, let me say that if you should...  tire of your work with Richard, I would have a place for a man such as you.  Men who can bend their actions to a rapidly changing situation are not found easily." "Your instructions and female are waiting for you in the car, as is traveling monies."  Well, that sounded like my marching papers.  I stood up and nodded my head in sort of a bow.  "Then I'll be on my way.  And thank you for the hospitality, Mr. Hassan." He walked me to the door, the put his hand on my arm to stop me.  "Once again, I want thank you for the advice and wisdom that you gave my too impetuous son." I smiled and nodded, then turned and followed Jeeves downstairs and out the front door. --------------- In the car. "I am the Sheik's agent, Mr. Rawleeans."  The man's accent was heavy but I could understand him.  "You will fly to Taba - it is on the TransJordanian border.  From there you will take the train to Gaza, then Haifa, then Damascus.  From there you enter the Turkish railroad system.  It is much better.  Do not worry about remembering.  These papers have your directions."  He handed me a thick packet.  "Here is the woman's passport and your money in dollars, pounds and coinage.  The woman is safe - she can not be impregnated.  She isn't of the faith, but we have given her an abaya and niqab.  That should help you to disguise the fact that she is a beautiful young woman.  Do you have any questions?" "What language does she speak?"   Arabic was the answer. Shortly we were at the plane - the same one, but now empty.  I waited for the woman to exit the automobile and was surprised to see that she was covered from head to toe with the conservative black robe and face scarf of that many arab women wore.  All that was visible of the woman was a small band of her face around her eyes.  She could have been sixteen to sixty years old as far as could be told in that getup.  I pointed to the canvas bag that held our traveling water and rations - she got the message and picked it up, with difficulty. Assuming that she would follow me, I shouldered my rifle, picked up my carry bag and climbed the steps to the plane. --------------- Taba The flight didn't take but about two or three hours, but the place we were put down in was a dump.  Dirty, hot and full of flies and kids, all of whom wanted a handout or something.  The railroad station was easy to find.  It was about the only building in town that had any state of permanency about it.  The agent was as dirty as the town, and didn't speak a word of English or any that I did but by pointing to myself and my woman, and pronouncing the word Gaza, he pushed two tickets to me with the demand of money.  I had been told by the agent what the going ticket price was, so I plunked down a handful of shillings and turned away.   Under a canopy, on a couple of boxes, we sat down and waited.  And waited.  I looked over my women a few times, but the way she was dressed, all I saw was black cloth.  I never caught her looking at me. I knew it was going on winter in the rest of the world, but here, it was still stifling hot.   I pulled a water jug from the canvas, and some bread and cheese and we ate, even though it was so hot I had no appetite.  Finally, it was almost sundown when I heard a chugging in the distance and shortly a decrepit little locomotive clanked into the station.  The Pennsylvania Railroad Limited it wasn't.  What a pile of junk.  Two passenger cars with no glass in the windows and two freight wagons with flat wheels that clanked at every revolution.   What the hell.  We headed for the end passenger wagon and soon were settled into a very uncomfortable wooden bench and looking out the glassless window.  A half hour later, we heard a shout, then a series of clanks and bangs and we lurched into motion.  Soon, we were flying across the desert at a breathless speed that had to be at least twenty miles an hour. There were only five other passengers in the wagon with us all acting like we were invisible.  The scenery slowly passing by though the window under the light of the moon was sand and rocks, mile after slow mile.  The entertainment possibilities were limited.  So, I turned to my bondwoman, or slave, or whatever she was and asked, "Speak English?"  No answer.  "Parley Francais?"  Nope.  "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"   This time she actually shook her head.   Well, that finished my repertoire.  I pointed to me and said, "Master."  Then I pointed to her and waited.  She wasn't dumb and quickly got the idea.  Pointing to herself, she answered, "Shahma," pronounced Shay-ma.  I have no idea of the actually spelling - that is just the English syllables that I put together to sound like what she said.   What the hell.  It would pass the time and I might learn a little of another language. --------------- Next Evening The sun was just going down as we pulled into the city of Gaza - almost a whole day to go what?  Two hundred miles, maybe.  Stops and starts for no reason in the middle of the desert and speeds that could have been exceeded by a little girl on a bicycle.  A two hour layover in a village with all of five grass huts.  Hell, this excuse for transportation wasn't even the equivalent of a backwoods logging railroad in in Virginia. Gaza was a big place and unlike Aden, was built on the flats.  At least it had a real railroad station with an agent that spoke English - sort of.   The next train north we had long missed, so I asked for the local hotel that catered to Westerners - quickly, please.  I had no desire to be on the streets of a strange city in this part of the world, after dark. Shortly, we were at the Jerico Star hotel and relaxing in a fairly decent room.  There was a shower at the end of the hall that I definitely needed, and I assumed that she did also.  For some reason, we seemed to be the only people staying on this floor.  And come to think of it, I didn't see many in the lobby, either.   Whatever.  Maybe that meant that there would be hot water left. I locked our few items in the room, and waved for her to follow me down the hall.   Inside the little room, I locked the door and motioned for her to strip, wondering what she would think about that.  What she apparently thought, was that I wanted her clothes off asap, since she immediately pulled her head scarf off, then dropped and stepped out of her robes.   Wow.  She was a raven haired beauty and stacked like a brick shithouse.  Of course, I hadn't thought that I would be paid to transport a skank across the world so the beauty was a given.  Like the two girls that worked me over in the desert compound, this one was bare from the neck down also.  I had no idea what had started that fad, but I totally approved. I stripped down and turned on the water.  It was very welcome, even though it was only lukewarm. Turning around, I noticed that she was still just standing there, waiting.  For what?  I motioned her to enter and she immediately entered the stream of water.  Again she just stood there looking at me.  What was she waiting for?   "Wash," I ordered.  That meant nothing to her, so I took the rag that passed for a washcloth and the scratchy bar of soap and made motions to scrub.  It didn't have the effect that I expected.  Instead of washing herself, she immediately began to scrub me down.  What the hell.  Go with the flow.  I suddenly remembered that the Sheik had mentioned that she was 'trained.'   Given her clothes that hid everything, I had let myself fall into the assumption that this was some chaste and delicate woman being delivered.  Thinking about it, I realized that this was another man cunt, no different than the three that I had delivered - just trained, whatever that meant.  I was soon to find out. She left no part of me untouched, and as my rod began to respond to her actions, she looked up and me, apparently waiting for me to tell her to climb on.  I shook my head.  Time for that later in a more secure location.  I had my pistol with me, but it was laying on our pile of clothes.  Not exactly ready if someone broke the door down. Finished with me, I took over the cleaning of her.  An enjoyable job.  I spent an extra amount of time making sure she was clean - inside and out.  Finally, I had her give me the words for what we were doing - shower, water, soap and so on - then gathered up our clothes, cracked open the door to see if anyone was in the hall, then both of us padded back to our room - naked as Adam and Eve. Once I had the door locked again, I realized that my nuts were not going to wait much longer.  I pointed to the bed and she immediately hopped on it and waited, tits dangling and wobbling.  I began to find out what 'trained' meant, in context with her.  She was like the two girls at the Sheik's place.  She took charge, trying this and that, obviously measuring how much I liked the action.   The agent that took me to the plane had said that she was safe from getting pregnant, and I took his word for it.   Her jugs were mesmerizing, and I squeezed and pulled and tweeked.  She realized that they were a major turn on for me and made sure that they dangled and wobbled in full view as she poked and prodded, rubbed and sucked.  I tried to wonder just how a woman got such 'training' but soon gave it up and just let the vixen do the driving. I tapped her again before we went to sleep, and spent the time in-between with language lessons.  I learned the words for bed, door, lamp, drink.  Oh, and for nipple, tittie, and pussy and a few other items that caught our attention. Well, I might use them for something someday. -------------- Morning A quick breakfast and I paid our bill.  Taking advantage of an English speaker at the desk, I asked, "Where is everybody?  Is it always this quiet around here?" He shook his head.  "It's the threat of Intifada if the United Nations votes for Partition.   Most westerners have left.  Business is very bad."   As we walked away, I murmured to myself.  "What the hell is Intifada?  And what in hell..."  I stopped and stared at Shahma.  Now covered in her black garb, her face couldn't be seen, but her eyes were wide opened and staring at me.   I stared back for a minute, then started, "What's wro..." She had hold of my arm with a death grip.  "Intifada babble babble, Master"  I didn't understand the middle words, but I was getting the message, but what the hell was it?  And what was going on?  Whatever it was, it was time to get the hell out of here. This train was somewhat better than the scrap heap that got us this far.  Not much faster, and with several stops en route, but was considerable more comfortable.  But it was also just about empty, just like the other one.  But by evening we pulled into a city called Haifa, pronounce High-fa.   This city was considerably more like a western counterpart than the ones I had visited since Capetown.   Although there were plenty of people dressed in standard Arab garb, there were more that actually looked like Europeans.  The young men and women had buttoned shirts and shorts, the older ones wore pants and dresses of some kind.  This was Palestine, I was told.   It was a name that I only knew from long forgotten bible lessons. Since the train for Damascus wouldn't leave till morning, I asked for another hotel.  To my surprise, many of the people spoke English, although with a British accent.   After checking in at the hotel, we left for a pleasant walk in the evening air and tea at a hillside cafe overlooking the Mediterranean.  I practiced more Arabic, learning the names of more objects and beginning to learn to use them in sentences.  Of course, after only a few days, about all I could say is the equivalent of "The chair is up there."  I hadn't even got to the pidgin level yet.  The people were friendly all around, except that an inordinate number of them seemed to be fascinated by the radio.  Everywhere we went, groups huddled around one listening to... something.  I had just learned to drink tea, in Arabic, anyway, and was busy with 'I drink tea' and 'You drink tea' and "They drink tea"  when I was approached by two men who stopped at our table.  Since both were carrying submachine guns, I was getting nervous, but all they wanted was to talk.  "Excuse us, sir.  You are American, yes?" I nodded, not taking my eyes off their hands until I noticed that neither gun had a magazine inserted.  "Yes, I am.  She isn't." "Excellent.  Might we ask your opinion of a matter?" What the hell was this?  On what?  The odds of the Yankees going to the series?  "Sure, go ahead." "Will America support Partition?" What?  I had no idea what they were talking about.  What state?  Palestine?  Hell, I thought it already was a state.  I had to plead ignorance - there was no way I was going to bluff my way though this. "Gentlemen.  Please sit down."  I waited till they settled into chairs - benches, actually.   "Let me explain our circumstances.  We... I have been wandering down the coast of Africa for several months after a shipwreck and am on my way back to Europe.  During this time I have had no contact to speak of with civilization, or the language to understand in the places that I passed through.  So, it pains me to admit that I have no knowledge of something that is apparently very important to you."  Hopefully, that was respectful enough.  "Perhaps you could fill me in on the current news." "Africa?" repeated one of the men.  I nodded.  They looked at each other, then the older man replied.  "Tomorrow the U.N. will vote on the Partition  of Palestine into Jewish and Arab states.  If it passes then we will have our independent state of Israel.  We were just wondering if you had an idea of how the delegate from your county will vote." Heck.  I had no idea of what they were talking about, and certainly no idea of how any vote would turn out.  I had barely heard of the United Nations.  I shook my head.  "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I left the States before any of this came up.  I have absolutely no idea of how my countrymen feel about the matter."   I needed to smooze over the negative statement.  "However, let me wish you success and good fortune."  It was a pleasant town, busy and apparent totally focused on the vote on the morrow.  At sundown, we retired to the hotel and the bed where I let her exercise my dick in her expert fashion.  I wondered just what a woman like her would cost, and where a man could purchase one. --------------- Morning The train pulled out as soon as the sun was up, once again at the blinding speed of about five or ten miles an hour.  I didn't know if the slow speeds in this part of the world were because of lousy track or small engines or too much load.  What the hell - it beat walking. This time it was fairly full, but in the case of our coach, several were soldiers.  None were wearing uniforms, but I had no problem recognizing a squad of men under the command of a sergeant, or officer as the case might be.   In fact, he sat down in the seat facing us.   He greeted me with a word that sounded like 'Shalloam' or the like.   I returned a 'Good Morning to you, sir.' He looked at me with interest.  "Ah.  You are an American." I nodded.  "Correct.  Escorting the young lady to Turkey.  Name is Tim Rawlins."  I looked around at his men.  My trained eye knew from the time that I had seen them that they were irregulars.  There were barely two weapons alike among the six men.   The man in front of me only had a sidearm in a holster.   "Yes, I knew that you are a man on a mission," he said.  "Most tourists to the Holy Land don't carry rifles with them."  He pointed at my rifle.  "That is a beautiful weapon.  May I examine it?" I picked it up, opened the bolt to make sure that it was unloaded, then handed it to him.  He looked it over closely, pointed, aimed and cycled the bolt.  Handing it back, he said, "A man with this is worth five with ordinary weapons.  If only I had access to such... power." To change the subject, I said, "You are obviously the commanding officer of these men." "Yes. I am Yaacov - captain of this band.  Actually, I was an actual Captain in the British army during the war."  He gestured to his men.  "We are members of the Haganah."  At my questioning look, he amplified.  "Jewish self defense forces."   I nodded.  "But, back to your situation.  You picked a particular time to travel across Palestine."  He meant peculiar, but I didn't correct him.  "How so?  If I may ask." "Do you know that there will probably be a war in a few weeks?" I shook my head.  "Actually, I only heard of the vote to... what was it..."   "Partition," he said.  "...yes, Partition of the... of Palestine last evening.  I have been incommunicado as far as the civilized world is concerned.  For several months." He inquired further and I gave him the short version of a ship versus mine and a walk across Africa, but without the slaves, violence and unwilling girls.  Meanwhile, we had stopped at a small village for a half hour.   I estimated that we couldn't have gone more than five miles so far.   Some people got off and a couple boarded our car.  Obviously Westerners.  A young couple, attractive - well, they would have been except for their clothes.  The man was wearing a full suit, which about as appropriate in this climate as wearing a swimsuit in Alaska.  The woman would have fit right in a picture as the wife of a sod farmer in the midwest.  She wore a one piece dress that covered everything from her neck to her feet.  We kept talking - it helped pass the time as the engine clanked and hissed, waiting for us to start down the track again.  Finally, he said, "I need to see to my men's rations.  But... Sir.  I suggest that you do not tarry when you leave the train in Damascus.  Get across the border into Turkey as soon as you can.  If war comes... well, just let me say that in this part of the world, the rights of neutrals are seldom respected." --------------- Later "'ook, Master."  Shahma was pointing out the window - this one had glass, but was down - at two horsemen galloping at a diagonal toward the tracks.  As we watched, they disappeared out of sight toward the front of the train.  The commander was dozing, in the time honored method of all military men who knew to get some sleep whenever time allowed.  Suddenly there was a clunk, and the train began to perceptibly slow down.   It took a minute or so, but I could tell that we were definitely coasting and not under power.  Then I saw the two horsemen, at a walk this time, but each horse had two riders.  Something in my mind turned a dial over to 'Bad'.  I leaned over and tapped the sleeping soldier.  I didn't shake him awake like a civie would do - if the captain had seen actual combat, he would come out of his sleep in full combat mode, ready to shoot, stab or throttle whoever was assaulting him.  "Captain.  Captain Yaacov."  His eyes popped open, then focused on me.  I gave him a full second to become fully awake, then said, "I think something's wrong.  Two horsemen approached the front of the train and four left.  We're coasting to a stop." He jumped up and shouted an order to his men in some unknown language.  In seconds, all seven were standing up, weapons ready.  "Stay," I said to Shahma in Arabic - I think - then followed with the English word, then walked forward to look out the open door.  As the train clanked to a stop, the soldiers swarmed out, followed by me. The engine was only three cars up and I was there in a few seconds.  A man was climbing up into the cab of the locomotive.  In a few seconds, I heard a shrieking scream as steam suddenly began to vent out of the top.   He leaned out and had a shouted conversation with his leader. He saw me approach and said, "The crew abandoned the engine.  That was the extra two that we saw riding away." I looked up at the cab of the loco.  "Do you have anyone who can run this thing?" He shook his head.  "That isn't an option.  The crew opened the valves on the water tank before they left.  My man managed to dump the fire before the boiler exploded."  He looked into the distance.  "The crew was Arab.  Apparently they came into some information that we are ignorant of." "Hmmmmm.  So.  We walk.  Got any idea which way is best?" He turned and talked to one of his men for a few seconds, then back to me.  "We passed Karmiel about thirty minutes back.  That makes it about six kilometers to Almak.   The problem is, if this is the start of a Arab uprising, we would be sitting either of two predominantly unfriendly villages."  He looked back at the coaches, where the passengers were beginning to exit.  "Safed would be a better destination.  There is a Haganah unit there.   He turned and shouted to his men.  I didn't understand a word, but I knew full well that they were orders.  They immediately went back to the three coaches and called everybody out.  Once the passengers were on the ground, he talked to them for a few minutes.    From what I could tell from the clothes, there were about one third Israelis and the rest robed Arabs.  "Sir!"  This was the man that had boarded with his wife at the last stop.  Captain Yaccov looked at him, waiting.  "Can you not radio for another train crew?"  "I could.  IF I had a radio.   And if I thought one would come."  He waved at the still train.  "This wasn't an accident - it was a deliberate act." Now the woman spoke up. "I can't believe that you will just let a train strand us in the middle of nowhere.  We have to be in Damascus this afternoon."  Shit.  The woman was speaking in a tone that she would tell a waiter that her soup was cold.  I would have ignored her, except that she was a fellow American, embarrassing me in front of my new acquaintance.  "Believe me, this will be reported to your superiors."  I was pondering the idea of stepping up and whacking the bitch across the mouth, when Yaccov spoke up.  He had men that were in trouble, and had little patience for an obnoxious foreigner.  "Damascus is that way, about a hundred kilometers.  Or Haifa is about forty back the way we came.  You may start walking to either, if you wish."  He turned back to his men but was interrupted by her other half.  "Captain.  May I suggest that we pray for guidance before we move off into the unknown?"  He held up a large, well used Bible.  Yaccov had enough.   "Pray all you want.  Just shut up and don't get in the way."  Back to his men, he started issuing orders. In a few minutes, the talk was over and about half of the Arabs gathered in a group and headed back the way we came.  I gathered up my girl and our two pieces of luggage and fell in behind the rest who were following the soldiers at a fast clip away from the railroad track - moving east. ------------- Time passes We had to slow down.  There were some elderly couples in our procession that were making a heavy chore of the walk.  A couple of small children were riding on the shoulders of his men.  All in all, I counted twenty seven, including us and the soldiers.  By now Captain Yaacov had recognized where we were and knew exactly how far we had to go.   This wasn't desert, but foot hills of some altitude.  Unfortunately, our path along was mostly uphill, which didn't help the old folks.  But I knew that with just a few more miles to go, we should be... One of the men called out, and caused an instant reaction with Yaacov and the rest.  They ran back along the line of people to the end where we were.  Stopping, he looked off in the distance.  Now I could see...  horsemen?  Yes, two or three dozen riders on horseback.   More orders to the crowd and they began to be herded to to a small ditch, except for four Arab males who began running toward the oncoming riders.  I pointed to the other civilians and pushed Shahma toward them.  She got the hint and followed. More orders and his men started assuming positions behind some of the many rocks that littered the landscape.  As I looked, wondering just what the hell was happening, Yaacov walked up to me, pointed to my rifle, and said, "Can you use that?" "Yes.  But..." "Good.  You have a much longer range than any of us.  Start dropping them when they get in range." "Wait a minute.  What the hell is going on?  Who do you think those guys are?  I can't just start shooting men on horseback." He pointed. "Do you see what they are holding?"  I couldn't tell, except that it was something long.  "Their desire is to kill everyone here that isn't wearing Arab robes.  And they may kill them also, just for associating with us.  Your girl they may keep for fun, if the bloodlust doesn't blind them to the fact she's a woman.  If she's lucky, they will kill her immediately." I took the rifle off my shoulder and the bandoliers out of my carry bag, but still stunned at what I was being told was happening.  It was only a second and I had a clip shoved in the weapon, then threw the bolt closed.   I pulled the .45 out of my belt, chambered a round, then put it back.  The other pistol magazines I put in my pocket to be handy.  The horsemen were closer - not galloping, just trotting along towards us.  The four young men had made it about halfway.   Just in case, I found a waist high rock and stepped to put it between them and me. "Captain!  Violence isn't how God taught us to behave.  You need to reason with the..."   Both Yaccov and I had turned to look at each other when the voice appeared behind us - neither of us believing what we were hearing.  We turned around, and sure enough, there was the woman standing with a bible in her outstretched hand.  I shook my head at him, stepped forward and spun the woman around.  "Get your pious ass back in that ditch and shut up!  If you bother us again, I'll personally turn you over to the bandits."  With that, I put the side of my boot into her rear and propelled her stumbling back toward the other civilians. Now it was waiting time.  "Who are they?" I asked.  "Bandits?"  He shook his head.  "I'm guessing, but I suspect that it is an advance party of either Lebanese or Syrian irregulars looking for glory.  They aren't nearly numerous enough to be regular cavalry." "You still fight wars on horseback around here?" "They do.  We don't." Who the hell was 'They?'   And 'We?'  Arabs?  Jews?  Palestinians?   Never in a million years would I believe my own tales of this part of the world if somehow I could go back in time and tell myself.   I kneeled behind the rock, still fully expecting the horsemen to stop and turn around.  Nobody would be dumb enough to charge guns on horseback.   Even against the ancient and assorted collection that his men were holding. His men.  I looked from one to the other.   Now I had no doubt that these were veterans of some conflict, somewhere.  They just calmly waited and watched.  Heck, they could have been waiting for the chow bell to ring for all the anxiety they showed.   One of them pointed and said a short sentence.  I noticed that the four Arabs had reached the horsemen, who stopped and surrounded them.  Apparently a powwow was going on,  I could see the four men pointing in our direction and apparently talk-talk going back and forth.   Probably giving the leader a rundown of how many we were and what we were carrying. Suddenly, one of the women behind us screamed - apparently she had been watching.   I paid no attention.  I was focused on the wide bladed swords that had just removed the heads of all four ex-members of our party.  Their bodies stood for a second, then collapsed into the dirt.  The riders lifted long rifles, and let off a ragged volley towards us.  I automatically and instantly ducked behind the rock, but I didn't even hear a bullet hit anything.  Not surprising for a rifleman on horseback and a hundred yards away. Yaacov gave an order and I heard weapons being charged on both sides of me.   I reverted back into my military form.  Worries about shooting people in an unknown land for unknown reasons disappeared.  I didn't make it though the biggest war in history to get killed by a sword in this god forsaken place.   I popped the thumb safety off.   The men had an assortment of ancient rifles - one didn't even have sights and the other two - son of a bitch - they were .22 calibre.  Squirrel gun peashooters for kids back home.  Three had shotguns - useless until the range got really close.  I had the longest range weapon by far.  My Garand was deadly both far away and up close. The horsemen now formed a line and took off towards us at a full gallop.  I couldn't believe it.  The proper technique would be to get in the rocks, surround us and pick us off one at a time.  What idiot of a commander would just gallop down our sights?  I looked at Yaacov.  He nodded. I put the front bead on the leader, centered it in the rear sight, held my breath, and squeezed.  With the loud report, the battle was on.  The 30.06 slug blew the horseman off the back of his mount in a full somersault before he hit the ground.  A shift of sights and bang.  The leader was joined by another on the ground.  As fast as possible with a good aim, I put the other six rounds into six men.   Goddamn! It was like shooting ducks at Coney Island.  Easier, those little metal ducks moved sideways - these fools didn't even try to dodge and weave.  Just wave the sword and gallop straight at us.    Three seconds to stuff in another clip, and I started again.  One I actually missed, even though the range was closing fast.  His horse apparently stumbled just enough for my round to go over his head.   Suddenly, Yaccov's men opened up.  Two little pops from the .22s and a bang from the other.   Wonder of wonders, one rider fell off and another pulled sideways and stopped.  Another clip and I got three more rounds off and hit two, then they were on us.  Even in the heat of combat, I would never throw a weapon down.  I leaned it against the rock and yanked the automatic out of my belt - a much better weapon for a close in fight.   I sighted on a horseman whose swinging sword had my neck in his sights.  A boom from the cannon and he flew off backwards.  The horse almost ran me down, but I moved to the other side of my rock as it went past.  Now it was a melee.  The shotguns were firing now and were making a deadly harvest of horsemen.  I emptied the magazine into riders at point blank range, dropped it, jammed another in and started again.  More rounds and then before I could change magazines, a body came flying at me.   I think his horse had been hit and he just flew by accident, but since he was coming right at me he didn't want to waste the movement.  Usually, against a sword, a knife user is screwed - and dead, but the flying charge of this sword wielder wasn't under his control.  I managed to get inside of the range of his blade and only his arm and the hilt hit me as he swung - he was moving too fast to time the swing.  I just held my combat knife out as he impacted against me, and it, then pushed it up as hard as I could.  I tossed him away, then managed to shove a new magazine in the pistol and began to frantically pivot on one foot, my eye looking down the sights.  I realized that there were no more targets.   Lots of movement as wounded horses screamed and bolted.  The whole fight probably didn't take but thirty seconds or so.  One of the soldiers had a major slash an arm, but it didn't seem deep enough to cause him to lose it.   Again, my training took over.  I reached into my bag and pulled out the loose rounds for my pistol and began to reload magazines.  I was convinced that, on this side of the world, and unarmed man was a dead man.  As I finished, there were several bangs as the wounded horses were put out of their misery.   Then at an order, his men began to collect all the weapons and ammo from the dead riders, going all the way back to where the first one lay, that I had dropped.  I walked over to the wounded man who was trying to stanch the blood with the help of a comrade.  Both obviously had no idea of battlefield medicine.  I pushed his comrade's hands away, took out his water bottle and poured it over the deep wound.  Then, ripping the already ripped sleeve off, I tore it in two long strips and tied it around the arm to stop the blood flow.  I looked up to see Yaacov watching.   With a serious expression, he took my hand in a ferocious grip and said, "You are indeed a warrior, Sir.  I am proud to know you."   His men grinned and slapped me on the back and jabbered somethings that I didn't need to understand to understand.  I always enjoy the approval of combat buddies, but the truth be known, for the last few minutes I was fighting for me.  Not Palestine or some Statehood - not even for the girl.  I was just trying to stay alive. -------------- Safed The city was  several miles further on and we made it with no further incident.  Totally unlike any other I had seen in the Middle East, it was built on hillsides.  There almost wasn't a flat spot anywhere I could see.  Not having any other goal at the moment, I just followed Yaccov as he headed for his headquarters to report.  At the low building, I relaxed outside with the men and my girl.  About fifteen minutes later, Captain Yaacov stuck his head out of the door and said, "Mr. Rawlins. Could you come inside?" I looked at Shahma, then back at Yaccov, uncertain about leaving her alone.  He barked a command at his soldiers, then said, "I have told my men to watch over your woman.  She will be safe."  I nodded, shouldered my rifle and followed him into the building.  Inside, in front of a desk was a man in sort of a uniform.  It was desert khakis and his shirt had two brass buttons for rank, but I had no idea what it might be.  To me he said, "This is Colonel Fischer,  Colonel, this is Tim Rawlins - American."  We shook hands and he said, "The Captain has told me of your prowess with weapons, Mr. Rawlins."  I just made one nod.  "You obviously have combat experience."  I just nodded again.  He didn't need my military record.  "Your support of Captain Yaccov is appreciated.  According to him, the only reason that all of your party made it here is your acumen with weapons." "Before you start handing out medals, Colonel, let me tell you that I wasn't fighting for freedom, or for a new State of Palestine..." "Israel," he interrupted. "...Israel.  I was trying to prevent a horseman from slicing my head off with the biggest sword I have ever seen." "You are Jewish? Yes?" I shook my head.  "No sir." "Christan?   Muslem?"  After my negative replies I tried to unconfuse the man. "I suppose the average person would call me a Christian.  When I was young, my mother made me attend church, but it didn't take."  A pause, then, "And I have to say that the last few years have given me the firm belief that either no one is in charge, or, if there is, he needs to be replaced.   So, from the religious standpoint, you can call me a nothing." He assimilated that, then replied.  "Muslims and Jews live here, and Christians come to visit the Holy Land.  We don't have a lot to attract athie... nothings." "You don't have to be polite, Colonel.  The truth is that I was on my way to Turkey from Arabia, escorting a woman.  I didn't choose the route.  Obviously my employer didn't expect a war, either.   And, as soon as I can find a way out of here, I will be out of your hair." He nodded.  "I suggest that you don't try your original route.  Your country voted for Partition and I doubt that either the Syrian or Lebanese armies are in the mood to respect your neutral passport." "Yes.  I have already noticed that." "I would suggest that you return to Haifa. From there you can get a boat to Greece and then overland to your destination.  Right now, there is just one problem with that plan..." "Getting back to Haifa," I finished. "Yes.  I would strongly advise you not to try it.  At least until we can verify what is along the route and what the armies of our enemies are doing.  You should be able to take passage with the British as they evacuate.  They will naturally take neutrals with them." "Thank you, Colonel.  I will take that advice." "Once again, my thanks for your support of my men.  Captain Yaccov will find you a place to stay while you are here." I knew a dismissal when I heard it, so I nodded and followed Yaccov out. Outside, he turned to me and said, "There aren't any hotels in the city, at least that you would recognize as one.  But there are families that have small inns that take in Christian Pilgrims.  As you might expect, those visitors have fled the country by now."  He shouted to one of his soldiers and gave a series of orders.   "Uziel will take you and talk to the innkeeper." I gathered up Shahma and we began to walk down the narrow streets.  Uziel was a large man and the double barrel shotgun in his hand looked like a peashooter.  Stopping in front of me, he asked gruffly, "You are Amerikai?" "Yes"  "You are berry good fighter."  I started to speak but he kept on.  "You not be good Uziel be dead.  You need help - any help, you come to Uziel.  Or any of the men." "Thank you," I said.  He had a handgrip that was just shy of crushing bone, but our shake was genuine - a bond between fighting men.   Shortly we stopped in front a whitewashed building, he knocked on the door and a man came out.  There was a short conversation and the little innkeeper bowed to me and gestured me around the side to a door.  Inside was a small, but clean room with a bed, table and...  washtub?  It looked like a round galvanized tub that any hardware store in the States would sell. I looked around, then said to Uziel, "Please ask him what the fee is."  Uziel thought for a moment, the said "Lo hevanti," with a shake of his head.  "How much?"  I tried again.  Finally, I dug in my pocket and brought out a coin. It happened to be a quarter.  I pointed at it and he suddenly said, "Kin.  Kin."  More talk to the innkeeper and he said, "Is shilling over muchly?" Enough already.  After the day's events I was about to collapse on my feet.  I pulled out a pair of Washingtons.  "Will he take two American dollars for a week?"  I knew he would before I had finished.  His eyes lit up at the thought of such riches. Shortly, the deal was done and Uziel on his way back to his unit.  I sat down on the bed, not exhausted, but beaucoup tired.  I suddenly had a thought.  Shahma spoke Arabic.  Most people, if not all, in this land spoke Arabic.  In my own pidgin Arabic I ordered the girl to ask about getting enough water for a bath.  She disappeared for a few minutes, then returned with a big jug of water balanced on her head.  A couple of more trips, then one for boiling hot water and I stripped and sat in the tub.  She washed me, then we exchanged places. That night I got a piece, but it was quick.  I was asleep before my rod had even shrunk back to normal. End of Book 2