Frontier Stories, April, 1929
In the Spanish Foreign Legion little matters save that a man be a stark fighter and dead game to the end. What his past may have been means nothing—usually. But in the case of Jack Aldridge, one episode from bygone days came to mean the difference between life and death—not only to himself, but to his comrades as well
REATHLESSLY, dragging their roof, rolling back the crushing Riffian attack wounded with them, the handful of
to its distant gullies and boulders, had made
B legionarios crawled through the starlit possible their unobserved escape through the Moroccan night from the wrecked Hassi dynamited wall and given them their lone Axdar blockhouse, and the mangled corpses
chance-in-a-thousand of winning to the help
that had been their comrades. A complete that had not come to them.
traverse of the machine gun on the blockhouse
Back at the blockhouse a bomb went
Frontier Stories
2
off. Triumphant yells resounded from the “I’m ebbing, anyway; punctured past repair.
encircling desert. Here and there in the Somebody kindly lend me his rifle.”
darkness, the rifles of the tribesmen boomed
“Nonsense, Norkoff,” responded
and echoed. Suddenly, drowning them out, the
Aldridge heartily. “You’ll get through all
cocked machine-gun atop the blockhouse right. With only two wounded for us four roared its mechanical fury as the candle huskies to carry, it’s a cinch.”
burned through the cord holding the weight
“Our American comrade is right,”
off its trigger. Viciously its bullets snapped
assented Catozzi, of Ventimiglia. “I’m willing
over the heads of the crawling men in a to carry one of you all the way to Sidi Dris, faithful effort to open the way before them to
Norkoff, old boy. As long as any of us are left,
the strong Spanish encampment at Sidi Dris.
remember we’re all musketeers!”
Frantically the refugees hurried on.
“Though I’m only baggage, myself,”
At the bottom of the slope, preceded
agreed the lieutenant, as he rode off on the
only by a crouching legionario with a Italian’s broad shoulders, “I say that sentiment bayoneted rifle, Jack Aldridge surged to his
was well spoken. If we can get to that big hill
feet with the slim body of the wounded called Djebel Messaua before they catch us, lieutenant on his back.
we can hold them off and send a heliogram to
In front of him sounded an Sidi Dris for help. The Riffians can’t locate us exclamation in the guttural Tarifit dialect of in the dark, off the trail as we are, and daylight
the Riffians. A shot splashed the warm ought to find us close enough to the hill to darkness. Sping! went the ricocheting bullet
make for it at top speed.”
past Aldridge’s bowed head and over his
Saving their precious breath, the weary
crawling companions. Somewhere ahead there
legionarios stumbled blindly on.
was a sound like that of a cleaver biting its
way through a quarter of beef.
THE pastel tints of dawn were streaking the
“Shake it up!” came a hiss from the
sky, and the rocky cone of Djebel Messaua
advance guard, and Aldridge trudged on into
reared itself out of the flat desert a mile ahead,
the unknown, as the machine gun on the fort
when a bullet yowled forward over the
behind roared to the end of its belt.
hurrying little column and a faint detonation
Behind them the rifles were popping
floated up from the rear.
again. Forward, the boulderless plain having
Back there, nothing was visible. No
afforded no protection to the attackers, all was
more than a hopeless glance they wasted. One
silent. For an hour they plodded on, with the
of their first practical lessons in the Spanish
fusillade growing in volume as it faded into
Foreign Legion had been that, except in the
the distance. Then came a series of dull furor of the cucrpo á cuerpo, the Moroccan is explosions, a medley of far-off cries, and an adept in the art of effacing himself on the when these ceased no further sound was field of battle.
heard.
Another bullet soon followed the first,
“They’re in the blockhouse now,” and the weary soldiers took up a desperate commented the lieutenant, as the panting trot. Here was no place for a stand, as these refugees halted to rest and to listen for sounds
veterans well knew. Such a move could only
of pursuit. “In a moment more they’ll be on
result in the loss of the hill and their only hope
our trail!”
of salvation.
“You’ve got too much baggage,
Bullets whined over them now in close
campadres,” said a quiet voice in their midst.
succession, and ever more spiteful was their
Wings in the Spanish Legion
3
song, and ever louder the crack of the distant
disappeared in the brown thicket. Bullets
weapons. Looking back, Aldridge saw a snapped overhead, whined up from the desert flitting horseman dismount and fling himself
floor. And now a nearer Riffian horseman
prone on the desert, saw another far beyond
galloped around the side of the hill.
leap into his saddle and gallop forward.
“Quick, Sollano!” shouted Aldridge,
“Drop a man off in a minute, to cover
dropping to his knee and cuddling his cheek
my retreat!” he called, twining his arms in his
against his rifle stock. “Get to the top of the
rifle sling and lying down with his face to the
hill, and hold it. Jump!”
rear.
His weapon spoke as Sollano bounded
Calmly he set his sight, raised his past, and the Riffian came tumbling out of his sight-leaf and dug his elbows into the sand.
saddle, his body strangely like some dancing
With the slack of his trigger taken up, and his
butterfly in the hooded, fluttering, djettaba.
sights aligned, he tightened his grip on the
Another Riffian and still another appeared
rifle as the horseman’s feet struck the ground.
behind him as his red sandals flew through the
Crack!
dust from his kicking bare heels.
Down went the Riffian, his rifle falling
Jensen was pumping steeljackets at the
from his stricken hands. His horse cantered
oncoming horsemen who now numbered,
loosely across the desert as the other rider
three—now four. As Aldridge leaped past
galloped past the silent white figure and bore
him, cramming a clip of cartridges into his
down upon the hurrying legionarios.
rifle, he saw Catozzi dragging his wounded up
Over on the right, several more the hillside with Sollano rapidly overhauling horsemen appeared on the misty horizon. Still
them through the dusty thicket.
Aldridge held his pos
ition, gradually pivoting
Behind a small boulder Aldridge
around his left elbow. When the nearest rider
plunged, drew a quick bead on his foremost
jerked his horse to its haunches and stepped
antagonist and jerked the trigger. Quickly he
lightly to the ground, Aldridge squeezed the
fired again, saw the black-bearded horseman
trigger and a red-hot fang of steel and lead
reel, and sprang to his feet under the horse’s
bored the tribesman through the vitals.
foaming nostrils and the yelling rider’s
As the Riffian crumpled, Aldridge’s
whirring scimitar.
long legs twinkled across the smooth sand
The American’s long bayonet flashed
toward the hill which would mean either storm
in the dawning sun as he sidestepped the
or haven. Past his kneeling comrade, Sollano, plunging hoofs. Spanish steel clashed with
he bounded, noting that the other horsemen
Berber, hilts locked, and the scimitar whistled
were Riffians and that they were rapidly into the thorns as Jensen darted past and knelt approaching. In front of him Swede Jensen
with flaming rifle.
was snuggling himself into his favorite prone
A splash of red appeared on the
firing position, while beyond, with Norkoff on
disarmed horseman’s breast, and he toppled
his back and his arm around the lieutenant,
from the saddle like a thing of wood—just as
Catozzi was struggling through a belt of desert
his comrades thundered up.
thorn that guarded the foot of the hill.
Some of the desert riders were careering riders. Bullets ricocheted from the dismounting in a flurry of voluminous hard sand with unearthly shrieks. Somewhere garments. Jensen’s rifle was roaring. Sollano
another rifle was roaring, and Aldridge saw
was coming up with long strides of his thin
Catozzi firing from a depression halfway up
old legs. Catozzi and his wounded had the hill.
Frontier Stories
4
Through the clutching shrubbery he
“Caramba! A dozen! A hundred!”
tore in the wake of Jensen. Far up the hillside,
chattered the old legionario. “And more in scrambling toward the summit, he caught a
sight. Listen!”
fleeting glimpse of Sollano. Then Jensen was
In the dead silence could be heard a
firing from behind a boulder, and Aldridge
dull boom-boom.
bounded past him with a grin of triumph.
“Spanish artillery at Sidi Dris,” went
on Sollano, his gray beard wagging in
THE rattle of musketry ceased as he plunged
excitement. “A gunboat in the bay is also
into the depression that sheltered Catozzi and
firing. The camp is surrounded by Riffians.
the wounded. Leveled rifles covered Jensen’s
We’re cut off, that’s what. Cut off by battle
dash up the slope. Out on the desert, leaving
lines. No wonder they didn’t send help in
their comrades where they had fallen, the answer to our rockets.”
tribesmen were galloping into the hazy
“And we have no more,” stated the
distance.
lieutenant calmly. “We’re in rather a bad fix,
“How does it look, Sollano?” called
unless some of the air force is at Sidi Dris. If
Aldridge, unpacking the field heliograph from
there is a plane or so, and we can get a
his belt as Sollano’s twin-peaked cap appeared
message through, they might help us.”
against the clear sky over the summit.
“You can’t use the heliograph,
Sollano’s rifle barked, barked again as
Lieutenant,” insisted Sollano. “The summit is
a startled “caramba! ” rattled from his throat, occupied, as you see.”
and a moment later he was crawfishing down
“Let’s have suggestions, then,” invited the
the hillside in a cascade of stones and sand.
lieutenant. “We haven’t any food, and very
“Get down!” he shrieked, in his little water.”
pellmell descent. “Riffians coming up the
“But plenty of ammunition,” spoke up
other side—a mob of them. A battle’s going
Aldridge. “Let’s hike out for Sidi Dris.”
on at Sidi Dris. Knock their heads off as they
“They’d finish us in short order,”
peep over the top.”
averred Sollano. “We’d better stay right in this
All was rapid movement within the
hole. You ought to have seen what I did,
little hollow. When Sollano’s feet struck the
compadre. I’m telling you, I got an eyeful.”
bottom, and his rifle steadied toward the
“I’ll take one look, at that,” answered
summit, two other rifles and the lieutenant’s
Aldridge, pulling his cap tighter on his head
revolver pointed motionlessly in the same and starting to rise.
direction. One rifle still covered the desert
“Wait a minute,” cautioned the
below. The sixth man, the Russian Norkoff,
lieutenant. “Hadn’t we better stay here, after
lay gasping his life away through a hole in his
all, and get a little rest? Sidi Dris isn’t more
chest received a dozen hours before.
than two or three hours away. The more rested
meantime, perhaps an airplane will fly over
from view as another appeared, to be greeted
and see us.”
by a slug from Jensen’s barking weapon.
“I’m hungry, Lieutenant,” grinned the
Along the jagged crest of the hill, outlined
American.
sharply against the turquoise sky, no more
HE WAS busily reaching out and breaking off
heads appeared.
handfuls of thorny branches. These he piled
“Is that all of them, Sollano?” asked
carefully in the deepest part of the hole and
the lieutenant.
wreathed an empty ammunition bandolier over
Wings in the Spanish Legion
5
them. Finally he got out his matchbox and set
desert charger.
fire to the bottom twigs.
Under their shaggy brows, Sollano’s
“Cold, too?” asked the lieutenant sharp old eyes squinted toward the summit.
quizzically.
With his scarlet bandanna over Norkoff’s eyes
“Like hell, sir,” grinned the perspiring
and his arm crooked over his own, the Italian
American, peeling off his tunic as a narrow
snored. Whistling a lilting waltz between his
column of black smoke grew slowly toward
teeth, Aldridge compared the Moroccan heat
the glaring sky. “I’m going to send a message.
with that of the memorable August days when
How’s for somebody to hold two corners of
the Brooks Field “Laundry Board” ironed him
my tunic?”
out and a terse telegram summoned him to a
“Something
I can do,” welcomed the still hotter session on the edge of the Mojave lieutenant, gingerly lifting his bandaged leg
Desert with his long-suffering father.
toward the fire. “Sollano, you take the first
The sudden crack of Sollano’s rifle
watch. The rest of you had better sleep a few
brought all hands alert, fingers on triggers.
winks, while you have the chance. Smoke
Still watching the summit, the old legionario’s
signal, Aldridge?”
face crinkled in delight.
“Yes, sir. Hold the corners, so! Now.
“Right in the eye!” he chuckled.
Over— off— over— off——”
“That’s the place to pot a Morucho!”
Insistently his voice droned on, the
“Good work, Sollano,” commended
tunic was whisked over the smoldering fire
the lieutenant. “But I’m afraid our airplane
and away, and a series of smoke blobs, some
hope was a dud, Aldridge. They could have
small and some large, mounted straight into
been here long ago.”
the motionless air.
“Maybe they didn’t see our signal,”
At length Aldridge kicked the fire out.
suggested the American, heaping his faggots
“Help. Send airplane,” he grinned, and rags together, lighting them and getting putting on his tunic. “With an airplane to
out of his tunic again. “All right, Lieutenant,
convoy us, we can go through to Sidi Dris like
let’s try it again. Over—off— over——”
a recruit through his enlistment bonus. The
A sharp cry from Sollano halted them
American Marines used airplanes that way,
in the middle of the message. A rusty sardine
over the jungles of Santo Domingo. I tried to