CHAPTER 47
Immari Operations Base at Ceuta
Northern Morocco
From the watchtower, David adjusted the binoculars and waited for the battle to begin. The Immari divisions had been slowly chasing the Berber tribes for the better part of three hours. From his vantage point, David could see the trap they had set—a line of heavy artillery and fortified lines on the far side of a high ridge looking down on a small valley. The Berbers would cross the opposite ridge and descend into the valley soon, then the larger battle would begin. The Immari would win, capturing and killing every Berber in the valley.
“How are the tribes faring?”
David turned to see Kamau standing behind him on the platform.
“Not well. They’re almost in the Immari trap. Where are we?”
“Eleven men.”
David nodded.
“I can widen the net, but the risk grows.”
“No. We’ll have to make do with eleven.”
Several hours later, the sound of heavy artillery echoed across the charred field that had been the city of Ceuta. David stood, walked to the edge of the watchtower, and held the binoculars up. The carnage in the valley was near total. On the farthest ridge, a group of riders on horseback charged up the hill toward the big guns camped there, but the Immari shot the horses out from under them, then raked them with automatic gunfire. Behind them, tribesmen fell in waves. David let the binoculars drop to his side, then returned to the bench and waited.
As the sun set, the Immari procession reached the outer gate. David watched from the guard tower. Major Rukin was the first to reach the gate, and as his jeep sped by, he and David shared a glance. The major’s lips curled slightly, but David simply stared.
David sat in his room, waiting. He would take one last nap before the final battle began. The next few hours would determine his fate and that of millions more.