The Last Heroes (Men at War 1)

‘‘I told you, he doesn’t want you to leave Morocco right now.’’

‘‘Well, fuck him!’’

‘‘You have two choices: You can go back to Germany—I can’t stop you from walking out of here. Or you can give me your word you will not try to contact the Americans, and return to Ksar es Souk with me.’’

‘‘Give you my word?’’

‘‘That presumes, of course, that I can get you past the thugs from the Sicherheitsdienst.’’

‘‘Give you my word?’’ Fulmar repeated. ‘‘Whose side are you on?’’

‘‘This is the real world, Eric; won’t you ever learn that?’’ el Ferruch said. ‘‘And in the final analysis, I am on my own side. I went as far as I can, asking Thami el Glaoui to help you.’’

‘‘I made the crazy old bastard a lot of money,’’ Eric said petulantly.

‘‘You made yourself what you think is a lot of money in the process. What you made for el Glaoui is less than what watering his golf course costs in a month.’’

Fulmar glowered at him.

‘‘You’re an ass sometimes, Eric,’’ el Ferruch said nastily. ‘‘An ungrateful ass!’’

They locked eyes for a long moment; then Fulmar shrugged, giving in.

‘‘The one thing I don’t want is the German Army,’’ he said. ‘‘How are you going to get me out of here? In addition to the Sicherheitsdienst people, there is also a pair from the Deuxième Bureau out there sitting in a Citroën just outside the gate.’’

‘‘Before we go any further, do I have your word?’’

‘‘OK, Christ. Sure.’’ He held three fingers extended at the level of his shoulder. ‘‘Boy Scout’s honor,’’ he said. ‘‘How’s that, you prick?’’

Sidi el Ferruch slapped his face as hard as he could.

‘‘Don’t forget again where you are, and what you are, and who I am,’’ el Ferruch said.

Fulmar balled his fists, and for a moment el Ferruch thought he was going to punch him. But in the end, Fulmar relaxed his fingers.

‘‘OK,’’ he said, his voice strained. ‘‘I give you my word of honor. Before I try to get in touch with any Americans, I’ll tell you first. Is that good enough?’’

‘‘Don’t expect to impose on the friendship between us,’’ el Ferruch said.

‘‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’’ Fulmar said sarcastically. ‘‘Just tell me how you’re going to get me out of here.’’

‘‘The Germans are not paying any attention to the natives, and the Deuxième Bureau will not interfere with me unless I give them cause,’’ el Ferruch said. ‘‘So the trick is not to give them cause.’’

Five minutes later, Sidi el Ferruch, accompanied by one of his Berber guards, whose lower face was masked in the Berber tradition, rode the elevator down to the lobby, where Najib Hammi was waiting along with four other Berbers. They walked across the lobby and went outside and entered the automobiles in which they had arrived.

There was a Sicherheitsdienst agent in the lobby, but he paid little more than perfunctory attention to the small group of natives who came out of the elevator, chattering like gossiping women.

Across the street from the Hôtel d’Anfa, one of the Deuxième Bureau agents pointed his finger at them as he counted them like sheep. He was satisfied. Seven had gone into the hotel, and seven had come out.

In twenty minutes they were out of Casablanca on the Atlantic coast road to El Jadida. There they turned onto the road which would take them—via the Tizi-n-Tichka pass— through the mountains. The road was narrow, unpaved, and there were no barriers. The French Foreign Legion had built it using only picks and shovels.

The trip to the palace of the pasha of Ksar es Souk took them all night.

Kunming, China 18 December 1941

When the P40-Bs and the First and Second Squadrons of the American Volunteer Group began to land at Kunming, Wingmen Canidy and Bitter were waiting for them. They had been there three days. Canidy and Bitter had been officer- and deputy-officer-in-charge of moving the ground element from Toungoo to Kunming.

The ground element of the American Volunteer Group had made the first leg—about 350 miles—of the trip to China aboard a special train, made up of thirty-three flatcars, a dining car, and three first-class passenger cars.