Blonde Needles in a Giant Haystack 14

Johanna almost lost her grip and would have fallen over when the truck hit another bump. Ali was driving at least 40 mph, despite them being offroad, and Ayoub was also shaken around. However, he still managed to hold the rifle in one hand, and not even Melissa and Gabriela had dared to attack him, though they were still unrestrained and could also talk in German.

There had been a shot, and Johanna hoped that Sato was okay. Or Ataru, as she now knew was his first name. In the night, he had told her the rather unspectacular origin story of him going by his last name: when he had been a boy, he and his friends had watched »Karate Kid II«, and since the antagonist’s name was Sato, too, his friends had started calling him by his last name, and it had stuck.

»Ataru-Kun!«, she thought and helped Gabriela to prevent Ana, who was still hogtied, to follow gravity when the truck took a curve. Little later, the car came to a halt, and Ali also entered the load.

»French, anyone?«, he asked in English, and Johanna raised her hand. Both Melissa and Gabriela also spoke a little French, but they decided to keep that to themselves.

»Good!«, Ali said in French, »So, you can translate my orders!«

He then had a short whispered conversation with his comrade, using Arabic, and when he turned back towards the girls, he ordered with a grin:

»Strip!«

At first, none of the girls made a move. Melissa, forgetting she had wanted to pretend she didn’t speak French, put her hands on her hips.

»Why?«

»Because we have the guns and we say so!«

Ali was perhaps little more than a boy, but Melissa had to admit he had a compelling argument there. She showed him her middle finger before opening her jeans, and Gabriela took off her T-Shirt. Johanna, who once again wore her slightly crumpled business dress, removed the jacket and, when Ali made an inviting gesture, unzipped her skirt and shimmied it down her hips.

A few minutes later, all three stood there in just their bra and panties. Melissa sported a combination of a plain bra and bikini briefs, white Satin with little red Polka dots, and Gabriela wore the pendant, red Satin with little white dots. Johanna’s panties were plain white cotton, whilst her bra had a little lace trimming.

To their relief, they didn’t have to go further, but instead had to untie Ana who was not allowed to ungag herself. Instead, Ali produced a roll of tape and gave an order Johanna had to translate:

»He – he wants you to gag us, too – and he says you shall use our socks!«

If Ana felt a little Schadenfreude because she could give her former captors a dose of their own medicine, she didn’t show it. The gagged Policewoman just took one of Melissa’s white tennis socks and balled it up. When she wanted to push it into Melissa’s mouth, Ayoub said something, and Ali told Johanna:

»She shall gag the other one with it – and make her use the second sock, too!«

Ana obeyed, rolling the second sock around the first. When she approached Gabriela, the Portuguese quickly pressed Melissa’s hand.

»Better yours than anyone else’s!«

She accepted the gag, immediately deciding that among the many things she loved on Melissa, the taste of her sweaty feet wasn’t one of them. Ana had to seal her lips with three tight rounds of tape; then, she had to gag Johanna with Gabriela’s socks. Ali realized that he had denied himself of his translator, and he ordered Johanna once her lips were sealed:

»Use your – what’s the word for it? – for her!«

The barrel of his gun pointed at Johanna’s pantyhose, and Melissa gulped. These had also been around Johanna’s loins. However, there was no escape from the damp Nylon, and when all four girls were gagged, Ali made them kneel in a line, their hands folded at the backs of their heads. He seemed to like this position, for he took a coiled rope and cut four lengths before he stepped behind the girls. One by one, he crossed their wrists at the nape and, having tied them, he secured the ends around the neck, knotting it off at the throat. Though he took care this noose wasn’t too tight, it nevertheless felt dissuasive.

The two men didn’t seem to be in a hurry; at least, they seemed to have time to add insult to injury: Without being allowed to raise from their knees, they had to change their positions, so they were sorted by their breast sizes. Neither man knew about bra sizes, but they could of course see that Johanna’s 36D boobs were considerably more ample than Melissa’s and Ana’s 34Cs, with Gabriela’s 34Bs being the smallest.

The truck’s tarpaulin was draped over a metal frame, and Ali now cut more rope, four long pieces and two shorter ones. He took one of the long ones and slung it around Gabriela’s upper body, just below her breasts, before threading the ends through her bent arms. Using the rope as a leash, he directed her under one of the frame’s beams and put the ends over it. When he pulled and used the ends to tie Gabriela’s ankles, the girl had to balance on her knees and calves and could neither raise nor sit down. Ali positioned her so her front faced the left side of the truck’s load, and Johanna began to understand what he had in mind.

»Let’s make matching pairs!«

He decided to build a pair of the girl with the biggest and the one with the smallest boobs, and so, Johanna had to shuffle over until she was kneeling in front of Gabriela, the tips of their breasts almost touching. She too was secured to the beam by a rope under her breasts and through her arms that was tied off to her ankles. Gabriela looked at Melissa with whom she had preferred being that close, but she was placed about a yard beside her. She was tied the same way, as was Ana who was forced to kneel face to face with her.

Ali gathered their discarded clothes and threw them out of the truck. Then, he and Ayoub rummaged through the girls’ bags and handbags. They spoke Arabic, but the helpless captives could guess from their tone that they were making lewd comments as they discovered their fresh underwear. Johanna couldn’t help blushing when Ayoub commented on the size of her bra cups, and they also played with the panties a little before they joined the pile outside the truck.

The men only kept the cash money and the cell phones, but when searching Johanna’s handbag, Ayoub discovered something white, and he frowned. It was Johanna’s panties, the pair she had used to gag Ana with. The man looked closer at the garment, and he grinned when he put them to his nose, causing Johanna to cringe and blush even deeper.

»Let’s be fair!«, he announced in bad English. He grabbed the tape roll and approached Ana. Not too gentle, he ripped the tape from her mouth and pulled out the damp cloth. The Spaniard tried to protest and fight, but the Arab just grabbed her hair and forced her head back, allowing him to stuff Johanna’s white panties into her mouth. The girl retched when he secured the gag with a few rounds of tape, and Melissa felt the touch when her chest heaved.

The handbags also were thrown out of the car, and little later, the girls could smell the stench of a fire fuelled by petrol. Somehow, the burning of their clothes made them feel even more naked.

Ayoub now took one of the short ropes and slung it around Ana’s and Melissa’s waists. By forcing their bellies close together, he managed to tie the ends off, and the girls now felt their breasts touch permanently whilst their panty-clad pubic mounds and loins grinded against each other. Ayoub slapped each girl’s buttocks before he used the last rope to get Gabriela and Johanna closer together.

He and Ali inspected the tied up girls, and the boy controlled their bonds before he left the load. Ayoub grinned and drew his knife, causing a nervous humming from four gagged mouths. He stepped behind Ana and brushed over her throat with the blade before he cut the shoulder straps of her bra.

Enjoying the job, he did the same to the other three. He then put away his knife, but relief was short-lived when he unclasped their bras that were now only held by their breasts being pressed together.

»Become good friends!«, he laughed when using the straps to pull off the ruined bras, leaving the girls topless and with their bare boobs touching. Slowed down by his limp, he climbed from the load and gave the four entangled bras a last look before tossing them onto the still glooming pile of burnt clothes.

»Let’s go!«, he announced when entering the passenger seat, and Ali started the engine and accelerated the truck.

***

The caravanserai had a podium at one corner. The Colonel occasionally used it for making announcements; on rarer occasions, it was where public punishments were executed. Now, the dozen soldiers in the court saw the boss of their new guests enter the podium, followed by the Colonel and two of his men.

In the two hours since they had arrived, those of Ben’s men who had not accompanied him had been together with the Colonel’s men. They had been polite, but not very talkative, only mentioning that they had recently lost a comrade. So, the Colonel’s men had little clue who they were, they just guessed that the man with the grey hair and the attitude of a leader was an important man from Europe or the US.

Obviously, the Colonel was accepting him as almost equal, for he just watched as the man now commanded a few men to place a wooden board on the podium. When this was done, Ben waved Nico, Barrot and Cory towards him and told them something the men quitted with a grin before leaving for his room.

Ben drew his cigarette case, offered one to the Colonel before lighting both their cigarettes, and he let his eyes wander over the court where now some ten more men had approached, driven by curiosity. The Colonel had wanted to order his men to line up, but Ben had persuaded him to allow him to be the Master of Ceremony.

He clapped his hands ostentatiously, and Cory appeared from his room. The soldiers murmured, and some laughed, for he had a rope to which some 20 or 30 blown up condoms were tied. When he pinned them to the board, the crowd had grown to about 100 men, and when Nico and Jean arrived, they knew that there would be something entertaining, as one of them carried a flute, the other a Mandoline. They started playing an easy tune, and Ben stepped to the edge of the podium whilst the Colonel positioned himself beside him.

»Gentlemen, my men and I are very pleased and grateful that we are allowed the hospitality of your leader!«

He spoke French, since he didn’t intend to hold a long speech, and those who understood him would translate his words to their comrades. When he had finished, there was some moderate applause for the Colonel, and when they had calmed down again, he continued:

»The Colonel and I have had a very pleasing talk earlier – pleasing for both sides, I hope! However«, he made an artificial pause, »military success is not only a matter of good leadership, but of brave men doing their duty!«

A few men applauded, but most just watched with interest. The men understood he was referring to them, but ever so often, such compliments were the prelude of some unpleasant news.

»Since I am travelling with light baggage, I could not do much for you! For starters, I paid a small sum into your troop fund – it’s just 10.000 Dollars, but they come from deep within my heart!«

There was more applause now; Ben looked at the gallery of the second floor where Barrot and Sid were waiting for his command, and he continued:

»Since there will be some time until you can spend my little contribution on things you like, I took the liberty to organize a little entertainment for you! That is, if you haven’t gotten used to camels so much you no longer appreciate the sight of women!«

There was some laughter as the translation of his words made the round. Ben made a gesture towards Sid and Barrot, and Jean and Nico started to play a joyful version of a military march.

»All right, the show begins!«

Jean and Sid slowly walked down the stairs; a slap on the butts of Inga and Carmen reminded them of their part of the show, and the two girls, both wrapped in blankets and placed over the men’s shoulders started to flail their legs.

The Colonel’s men, cheering with anticipation, formed a way for the two men that carried their two bundles onto the podium where they placed them side by side, close to the edge. Even those in the front rows could only see their lower legs. Ben raised his hands, waiting until they had fallen silent again, and asked:

»Do you want to see a little more?«

Slowly, Barrot and Sid unwrapped the blanket from the taller woman. Inga caused quite some hooting and whistling, as they had used the limited possibilities a garrison at the end of the world offered to make her look spectacular.

From the waist down, the Swede wore just a pair of pantyhose and the pink French Knickers she had been gagged with – nothing too much was exposed, it was the contrast that made the ensemble look frivolous. Inga sported a tight uniform jacket with shiny brass buttons, and her head was tied into a tight bun. Her wrists were cuffed behind her back, and she had a bright red ball gag strapped between her lips.

»Miss Inga can’t speak your language, and I thought you may prefer a woman that can be seen, but not heard, so, I decided to seal her mouth! However, Miss Inga is very happy to be here!«

His look at Inga contained a subtext of »play along, or else!«, and so, the girl dropped a gracious curtsey. The crowd applauded, and the blanket was removed from Carmen, too. This time, the audience did not hoot, for the woman was still covered by lots of coloured cloths and scarves. A camo cloth hid her hair and was knotted at her nape, a transparent veil covered her face and only allowed to see she was sporting a similar ball gag as Inga, though her arms were free. A large cloth hid her arms and upper body, and she wore a skirt that consisted of dozens of strips and rags in all colours.

»Miss Carmen will speak to you in the language of music! I am sure all of you appreciate the works of Monsieur Bizet!«

The cultural background of most of the soldiers was limited, and Bizet himself would perhaps have turned in his grave by what Jean and Nico did to his famous tune. However, the well-known rhythm was catchy, and when Carmen started to dance, the audience cheered. Carmen was a capable dancer, and when her legs occasionally showed between the strips of her skirt, it had quite an effect on men who had been living without women for months, and who didn’t get much female flesh to look upon in general.

Jean’s and Nico’s repertoire included a Cancan, and when Carmen’s legs flew, some of the soldiers leaned forward and tried to see the colour of her panties – or if she was wearing any at all. When the song was over, ben allowed the panting girl a little rest and approached the Colonel, whispering something into his ear before turning towards the audience.

»I hope you are not bored or tired already – for we have a little surprise left! The Colonel has agreed to choose one of you who may assist Miss Inga!«

Since he was a leader of rebel troops, the Colonel had also some showman qualities, and he praised one of his men before calling him upon the podium. Ben announced:

»Miss Inga unfortunately isn’t a good dancer – but she has got other skills she wants to show you – with the help of your comrade!«

The Colonel translated Ben’s orders to his man who, showing a broad grin, stepped behind Inga who arched backwards, forcing herself not to buck when the soldier reached around her and cupped her breasts. He was rather clumsy than horny, and Inga gulped when she was turned towards the board with the air-filled condoms. Ben produced a Dart arrow and placed it between her pantyhose-clad toes when Inga had risen her right leg. She was indeed no good dancer, but she was strong and lithe, and so, she could throw the arrow with her foot. It hit one of the balloons, but failed to cause it to burst. Ben shrugged ostentatiously.

»Missed, Miss Inga! You know what that means!«

The Swede stared daggers at him, and the ball gag muffled some profanities, but she held still when Ben removed her handcuffs. Turning towards the audience, she unbuttoned her uniform jacket and threw it at the first row, causing a brawl. Underneath, she wore a sleeveless camo tank top. Ben recuffed her wrists, and another soldier was allowed to steady her by cupping her ample boobs whilst Inga tried again to throw the arrow with her foot. This time, one of the condoms burst, and Ben picked a small note from it.

»And the price is – five veils from Miss Carmen!«

Jean and Nico played an oriental rhythm, accompanied by the men clapping, and carmen started to dance. She started with the large cloth that was actually a bedsheet. Underneath, another cloth, knotted sarong-style, covered her boobs and belly, but her arms were free now. Carmen waved them in the rhythm and danced until she removed the face veil that had only blocked her breathing anyway. Since it smelled of her sweat, two men struggled over it when it flew towards the audience.

Inga, who still got her breasts kneaded by the soldier, had to admit that Carmen knew what she was doing. Number three was her headscarf, and the audience collectively awed when she shook her blonde curls. Carmen swayed her hips, and when she reached for the knot of her sarong cloth, the soldiers fell silent.

Still, it was more tease than treat, as Carmen had yet another cloth tied over her breasts. This one was slightly transparent, and at least the first rows got a glimpse of her aureoles. Carmen reached for the knot of her breast cloth – only to chose one of the many cloths of her skirt instead. The music stopped, and Carmen even bowed towards her enthusiastic fans.

Ben had watched the men during the performance; he had seen »Apocalypse Now«, and he knew that such shows could easily escalate. However, it seemed that these men were just happy to see some flesh, and in addition, they weren’t drunk.

»Do you want some more?«, he shouted.

***

Inside the Sheikh’s tent, the two men had continued their negotiations, but withdrawn to another corner so Dalanda couldn’t hear what they were talking about. All she got was that the next day, the Phantom would leave – taking her with him. She desperately tried to cheer herself up with the fact that if he had wanted her dead, he would have killed her already. However, she feared that the plantation owners would be more imaginative than she could think of in her worst nightmares, and a quick death would perhaps be a relief in comparison.

Something brushed over her sole, and she twitched and mewed. It had been Babette’s toe when the blonde had shifted her position, and Dalanda glanced at her. Being ticklish was one of her weaknesses, and she definitely didn’t want their captors to know about it.

Her squeal had made them look up, and the Sheikh now rose and walked towards the tent’s exit, shouting an order. A few minutes later, a man entered. He was young, but showed a resemblance to Sheikh Mansur, and by the way the old man put his hand on his shoulder, it was clear that he was his son. The young man looked at the two naked, bound and gagged women with an expression difficult to read.

The Sheikh maneuvered him towards Babette, and in his broken French, he announced:

»That’s Chalid, my oldest! He not like our woman!«

He not so gently pushed Chalid forward, and the young man bent down to Babette, let his eyes wander over her ample forms. He touched her breasts, but Babette saw no passion in his eyes, and his hands felt almost reluctant. She didn’t know how to react. Should she squirm and scream through her gag? Maybe, this would ignite the missing passion in Chalid, and he would try to break her resistance. Or, should she try to feign dedication, open her thighs and rear up so he felt her boobs more? It could work, but also, if he would consider her a slut, it would repel him, and then, his father would willingly take care of Babette – and the old man seemed less shy!

So, she just panted slightly as Chalid brushed over her body before he rose and thanked his father, sounding a bit mechanically. When Sheikh Mansur announced that Babette would be given to him once the Phantom had left, he seemed almost relieved and withdrew from the tent.

A wild spark of hope grew within Babette: maybe, the young man was disgusted by his father’s way of getting him a bride, and maybe, he would therefore let her go!

It seemed that Chalid was the only man allowed to see them in their nudity, as the two men did not call in any servants when it came to their captives’ physical needs. When the evening approached, Babette was freed from her gag and fed some bread and fruits. To her relief, the Sheikh threw away the sodden sock when he had pulled it from her mouth. Dalanda’s panties, however, seemed to fascinate him, and the way he let it run through his fingers like a rosary, occasionally sniffing on the garment, remembered Babette of how vile the gag had tasted.

The tent was separated into veritable rooms by cloth walls, and Babette was released from her bonds and led into the most remote corner where she was allowed to relieve herself, under the Phantom’s prying eyes. The man then recuffed her wrists behind her back and the damp panties wandered back into her mouth, secured with the cleave gag being tied tightly between her lips. Babette had to lie down on her back, and the Sheikh seemed to scan every square inch of her nude body whilst the Phantom took care of Dalanda.

The Black also got her wrists cuffed; in her case, a gleeful Phantom stuffed both pairs of panties back into her mouth before cleave-gagging her. She was positioned to Babette’s left, and the Phantom cuffed her right ankle to the blonde’s left. He then used a leather thong and tied it off to Babette’s free ankle. Using that as a leash, he forced her to bend her leg. He pushed his hands under her butt and threaded the end through the chain of her handcuffs. Not bothering about the close contact, he then led the thong through Dalanda’s handcuffs before grabbing the Black’s left ankle and tying it off. Now, both girls had to lie with one leg bent, unable to get up, and forced to keep their thighs slightly open.

The Sheikh held his balled fists towards the Phantom, and after a few seconds of pondering, the Mauritanian pointed at the man’s right. Mansur opened his fist, and the girls could see it contained a black chess pawn.

A wooden chess board was placed on the girls’ bellies, and the Phantom sat down beside Dalanda whilst the Sheikh sat opposite to him. The figures were placed, white on the Sheikh’s, black on the Phantom’s side, and the latter explained in French:

»You better hold still – for each figure that topples because of your moving, I will cut off one of your toes!«

His eyes told them that this wasn’t an empty threat, and so, Babette and Dalanda hardly dared to breathe as the game went on. It seemed that both players were on an equal level, and after the first draws, there was much considering and pondering before any of them made a move. The Sheikh seemed to need something to focus, and his right hand cupped Babette’s left breast, kneading and fondling it whilst deciding his next draw. The blonde reflexively twitched, causing the board to slightly sway. When the Phantom’s eyes met hers, the girl gulped and forced herself to endure the fondling calmly.

Beside her, Dalanda was little better off. The Phantom didn’t grope her – but he always kept the last enemy pawn taken in his right and sucked on it before he brushed over Dalanda’s shaven pubic mound with it. Though she couldn’t see it, and though the touch felt soft as a breeze, to know that her captor’s saliva was on her middle made Dalanda shudder from disgust, and it took all her willpower not to scream and raise.

***

For a while, John, Jeb and Sato had followed the road to Haousa, and the Japanese had even gotten adjusted to sitting so close to his nemesis, with his arm slung around the bulky man’s torso. Whenever they had passed a village, John had used his little Arabic to ask whether someone had seen an old military truck, and indeed, a small boy had told them it had passed just some hour ago. Right after the village, the two bikes stopped side by side, and they held an improvised powwow.

»Haousa’s still another 60 miles ahead!«, Jeb stated, »They will have to refuel before, but according to my app, there are no more gas stations on that road before the town!«

Sato checked his gun. He tried to feel into the kidnappers – what would they do if they ran out of fuel? Would they try to stop another car and ask for a canister, or would they leave the truck behind? If so, what would they do to their captives?

»Maybe, there’s a shorter way to the Free Zone?«

Sato pointed at the hills at the Eastern horizon. According to the map, the Free Zone was somewhere behind these, and he guessed that the direct distance was just some 20 or 25 miles. He could see that Jeb sneered at him, and John grimaced.

»Most likely, there are several shortcuts – but all of them lead through the Berm, and I do not intent to get through a mine field via trial and error!«

They stared at the hills, with the Americans having a cigarette whilst Sato hoped that some divine inspiration would show him a way to Johanna. His eyes narrowed, and he cleared his throat. Jeb scoffed:

»Wassup, Bonsai? Wanna try a Kamikaze attack on the mine field? If you let Johnny and me keep enough distance, feel free to try your luck!«

»When you were a child, your swing must really have stood too close to the wall!«, Sato replied and pointed at something that looked like a spark. John also looked and after some inspection, he grunted.

»A campfire! So, some local peasants had a barbecue!«

It was the obvious explanation, but somehow, the small fire looked like a spark in the dark to Sato.

»Since it’s not far, and since we have to get to that direction anyway, we could also have a look! It’s just my intuition, but-«

»Intuition?«, Jeb scoffed, and Sato gave him a sardonic look.

»The ability to acquire knowledge without recourse to conscious reasoning or needing an explanation!«

»Fuck off, smartass!«

Before the situation could further escalate, John decided that they could indeed have a look at the campfire.

»It’s just a little extra way – and at least, if there had been some people having a barbecue, it means that there are no mines!«

Even over the roaring engine, Sato could hear Jeb’s swearing as they approached the fire. However, the man grew more and more silent as he spotted what also John and Sato could see: tire tracks were leading towards their goal – the tracks of a big car.

When they had reached the spot, there were just a few glooming bits. John dismounted his bike and approached the ashes, picking up a bizarrely shaped thing. It was a burnt sandal. Jeb pointed at a bush a few yards away, and when he returned, he held something in his hand. It were four dangling items, three white and one red, with two of them showing small Polka dots. He grinned, but his expression also showed some unwilling admiration of Sato’s intuition.

»Either, we have a haptic Fata Morgana, or these are some bras!«

He selected one white bra, the one with the biggest cups, and read the label.

»36D – just like your Sweetheart!«

Angrily, Sato reached for the bra, and Jeb withdrew it with a chuckle. John told them to shut the fuck up and reached for the other white bra.

»I definitely have seen this one before – on the Spanish Policewoman you have taken hostage!«

Sato hat taken the opportunity to grab Johanna’s bra from Jeb, and he felt a bit like a dog taking track when he tried to sense her perfume. The garment had been cut, and nevertheless, it was a sign from Johanna. Also, despite the implications of the burnt clothes, there were no corpses, nor did it look as if someone had buried something. The tire tracks led towards the hills, becoming less visible as the terrain was rockier now.

The Americans seemed to think similarly, as they silently returned towards the bikes. Jeb dropped the bras, but Sato put Johanna’s into his pocket, hoping it would not become his last memory of her.

***

»Shouldn’t you slow down a bit?«

Ali felt a bit nervous as Ayoub steered the truck over the mixture of gravel and sand, through the labyrinth of small hills and valleys. The elder man had taken over the wheel, as he was far more experienced in using a way the people from Western Sahara called the »Highway of Freedom«.

A few years ago, before the followers of the Colonel and Sheikh Mansur had split up, they had gathered all available metal detectors and defusing kits and built a path through the minefield the Berm consisted of in this area. Sometimes, the »Highway« was just ten yards wide, and the marks were of course small. However, Ayoub had indeed used the passage many times and he boasted that he could do so blindfolded.

Ali knew that Ayoub wasn’t as reckless as he sometimes pretended, and he trusted his comrade. On the other hand, he was nervous; his thoughts always wandered towards the load, to the overload of nearly naked women, tied up and gagged and at their mercy. He had no clear idea what to do with them once they had reached the Free Zone – but nevertheless, the four beauties writhing in their bonds had been a more than intriguing sight.

BOOM!

The explosion rudely interrupted his fantasies. It wasn’t Ayoub’s fault; at least, the man hadn’t come off the »Highway«. However, the metal detectors of the defusing team had had a limited reach, and so, some of the mines that had been buried deeper in the sand had not been found. They were harmless for people walking over them, also no danger for normal cars or even vans that didn’t weigh more than some two or three tons. The old truck, however, weighed 11 tons, and the vibrations caused by it had been enough to wake the mine underneath from its slumber.

Though cushioned by a thick layer of sand, the detonation hit the truck like a giant’s punch. Ali was thrown from his seat, his head painfully hitting the doorframe. Ayoub cursed and could not oppress a scream when his already injured leg hit the gear lever. Entangled into each other, and coughing from the smoke coming from underneath the motorhead, the two men took some time to realize they were still alive and unhurt, except for some bruises.

The truck hung in a 45 degree angle, and the two men had to climb out of the car via the driver’s side. Half sitting, half lying in the gravel, they saw that there wasn’t just smoke, but also flames. Instinctively, Ali grabbed Ayoub’s shoulders and pulled him away, behind a rock.

»I – I am okay!«, Ayoub gasped. The men stared at the car, and though a hissing sound blocked all noise coming from the load, they knew exactly that their prisoners were still there. Ali came to his feet, but Ayoub stopped him, pointing at a small dust cloud at the horizon.

»Seems the Moroccans have heard the detonation! We should not be here if they show up!«

Ali pointed at the truck, but Ayoub worked himself to his feet, tested if he could walk without assistance and shook his head.

»The Moroccan soldiers will take care of them! Now, let’s go, before they show up!«

Reluctantly, Ali followed his comrade, from time to time looking over his shoulder, until he no longer could see the truck.

***