Hell's Legionnaire by L. Ron Hubbard

the
town I saw the gates. Something was moving beside them. Something white. Had
the Berbers followed us after all? I did not think so. The hillmen would want
nothing better than an open plain to start an attack. As we were without cover
they could wipe us out by the very crush of numbers.
    Montrey trotted toward
the gate and I went up to him. The white thing had disappeared. Montrey tested
the tall iron grilling. In this high altitude, the iron did not show any great
signs of wear or rust—a fact which is very usual but which caused me a bad
moment. The grill was shiny at the height of a man’s hand!
    â€œWe’d better get out
of here,” I said. “If we don’t, I’m afraid there won’t be any of us left to go
back.”
    â€œYou should worry
about going back,” snapped Montrey. He swung around and I saw that he held a
Chauchat at waist level. By the moonlight I could see the fire in his eyes.
    I dived to the right,
expecting the impact of bullets at any instant. But instead I heard a creak of
rusty hinges. I looked back at Montrey and past him I beheld a white robe. The
gates were open!
    The man said something
in a language which sounded like Arabic, but before the sentence was finished,
Montrey had wheeled on him with the auto-rifle. Almost in the same instant, a
sword flashed in the gatekeeper’s hand.
    Montrey let drive. The
powder flame turned the wall a dull red. It seemed that the gun went on forever
before the gatekeeper collapsed.
    Kraus, Gian and Ivan
came on the run, faces set, guns ready. They headed straight for the gate.
    â€œDon’t go in!” I
shouted. “The town is occupied!”
    But I might as well
have told the silent hills to move. Montrey in the lead, they swept in through
the portals and ran down a narrow street, boots ringing against the stone,
their bandoliers clanking. I rammed after them, pack jarring my back.
    Instantly the town was
alive with men. They spewed from every doorway. Crude lanterns jumped into
being. A concerted howl went up from a thousand throats.
    The four ahead of me
would not stop to make a stand. They were mad with the lust for gold. They did
not seem to realize that there would be no escape for them, ringed as they were
with walls and men.
    Ahead was a cleared
space—probably the old forum. The stones were worn and in the moonlight the
white pillars of the buildings which faced it loomed like so many ghostly
soldiers.
    On a rise a hundred
feet away stood a square, squat building built like the Acropolis. Montrey
headed for it.
    To the rear of the
three others ran Gian. His head was lowered and his teeth were set. From a roof
above us a rifle cracked with a streak of red flame. Gian stumbled and caved
in.
    I paused long enough
to snatch up the auto-rifle and the cartridge belts. Another rifle spat down at
me and knocked my kepi away. My auto-rifle barked and the gun above me
clattered to the street, followed by a white-robed figure.
    Recovering the kepi, I
sprinted on. A small bridge was underfoot and I could hear the gurgling wash of
the river beneath.
    Montrey knew what he
was doing when he headed for the square building above. It was the only one
which could be defended—and it was obviously an old Roman temple.
    I toiled up the steps.
Above I saw Montrey unlimber an auto-rifle. Ivan was already at work. The
machine gun rapped and roared, sending screaming bullets into the streets
below.
    I made the entrance of
the building with one last jump and dived inside, heading for the rear.
    Two statues were in
this dim interior, statues of the Roman gods. But they were lying on their
sides, broken into great fragments. Mohammedanism had come to this city, that
was plain. Therefore, this was a mosque.
    A shadowy body was
catapulted at me, knife shimmering in a tense hand. I sidestepped and pulled
the trigger. The man went skittering back, flat on the floor, driven there by
my bullets.
    I was not a moment too
soon in