Hell's Legionnaire by L. Ron Hubbard Read Free Book Online Page A

bundle.
    â€œNow,” he said, “now let’s see what you’ve got here.”
    He unfolded the smeared burnoose and disclosed the
bullet-mangled head of Caid Kirzigh. For a moment he was startled.
    â€œIt’s Kirzigh’s,” supplied Harvey, still watchful.
    â€œKirzigh’s. Ho! That’s a joke. He sends me a head and
then I have his. Well, that’s fair enough, isn’t it? Ugly-looking brute, wasn’t
he? These damn uncivilized devils think they’re above losing their lives. Well,
I showed them, didn’t I?”
    Harvey swallowed. His alert eyes
grew a little haggard.
    Duprey replaced the wrappings. “Kirzigh’s head! Ah,
that’s the best joke yet. Here, I must take this over to the colonel. He’ll be
pleased, Capitaine, very pleased.”
    Duprey went briskly to the door, the grisly burden
swinging carelessly at his side. He remembered something and turned. “Oh, yes, Harvey. I see you’re wounded. Get it fixed up and turn yourself in to the hospital. You’ll
. . . well, you’ll get a mention in the orders of the day for this. By the
saints,” he laughed, “you might even get a medal.”
    â€œFor France,” said Harvey, dully.
    â€œFor France!” cried the major. Night swallowed his
footsteps.
    Harvey went to the desk and
picked up a bottle of cognac, pouring himself a stiff shot. He raised the glass
to the height of his eyes and said, “For France,” very quietly. Then he drank
and limped out to the great square.
    For half an hour he stood there, watching the natives
pass back and forth. Watching their straight shoulders and observant blue eyes,
their silks and fine leathers. For the first time, he was seeing them.
    He sighed finally and turned to go toward the hospital.
He felt disappointed, let down. Hollow inside, somehow, as though he had lost
something which rightfully belonged to him.
    But then, of course, you couldn’t expect Major Duprey to
get the point.
    They were laughing in the colonel’s quarters.

The Squad That Never Came Back

CHAPTER ONE
    The Dying Man
    B ACK in Sidi-bel-Abbès they
still think that my squad and I died in a miserable outpost on the northern
slope of the High Atlas Mountains. Well, they’re seven-eighths right. I’m still
living, but the rest of the squad have long since given their bones to dust in
the rocky heights of Morocco. I could not go back until it was too late—and now
I don’t want to.
    Besides, the papers
tell me that they are thinking the Legion will be held only as a police force
and labor outfit from now on. That lets me out.
    The papers tell me
other things. And one of these things has prompted me to write my story. The
news concerns a discovery made in Morocco a short while back.
    Two airmen, according
to a press dispatch, were flying south of Casablanca over uncharted terrain.
They brought back the tidings that they had discovered a city in a lake. Their
guess was that it was an ancient Roman city, untouched for centuries.
    Also, they are
thinking of fitting out an expedition to visit that place overland. Judging
from the reports of the two airmen, it would seem that the four corner towers
and the wall are clearly visible in this lake.
    That expedition is due
for a surprise. They’ll drain that lake to discover that only a small quantity
of silt has been deposited on the paved streets. They’ll also find fabrics
still intact. And, I have no doubt, they’ll find the skeletons of men not long
dead. Doubtless, this will amaze them.
    They will write
innumerable theses to explain that this water has a certain mysterious chemical
component which makes it impossible for bones to decay. However, mes amis , the true explanation is very simple—entirely too simple to be grasped by the
scientific mind.
    They’ll find that
those men have been dead not longer than two years. And yet they are buried in
a Roman city which flourished