Consequences Unforeseen

Libya 1976 - Malta 1975

Libyan Desert, July 1976 

It was a cold day in Hell…

The slow steady rumble and subtle vibrations above him brought him awake.

Hussain was growling soundlessly, and the reverberations deep in his chest were designed to rouse his sleeping master.

He had seen their target some two miles away and it was time for Bill Douglas, to wake up. . .

The Afghan hound crawled on its belly until his master was able to raise his head above the pit in the sand and use the dog as cover to observe the distant activity through his gun’s scope. The dog was a sight hound and he could have spotted a hare at two miles out, the six Landrover vehicles were an easy target.

The dog blended with the dessert color superbly well. He was shaved almost skinhead bare but enough hair stubble remained to give him the subtle browns, reds and blacks which comprised the surrounding terrain.

Scattered around the pit were several carcasses of the prevailing and deadly desert vipers. He had taken care of them during the night while his master slept. Scorpions too lay shattered by his powerful jaws. He had once more carried out his duties impeccably and ensured that Douglas got as good a night’s sleep as was possible.

Earlier the dog had fashioned the pit in the sand with the power of his forepaws and Douglas had sunk gratefully down into the earth for some sleep. The dog then lay down on top of him to provide warmth and protection.

The two were an excellent team and had been working together for two years honing their understanding and relationship to a level where verbal communication was almost unnecessary.

They spent their time alternately in the hills above Valetta in Malta and the harsh reality of the Libyan desert.

Today though was a culmination of sorts for it would be the end of one era and the beginning of another.

Just over a mile away now the four Landrover vehicles had come to a stop. Hussain had flattened himself prone to the contours of the sand dune. Bill Douglas had been busy and he was all set to go. . . .

Malta 1975. . .

It was difficult but not impossible to describe Bahaar Ishah in Malta as beautiful. It was dry and arid for the most part as it ran down to the rocky beach and the Mediterranean Sea. There though its beauty sprang forth. No mountains or spectacular cliffs, but a rocky beach with hidden coves. These naturally occurring harbors were home to numerous luxurious speedboats resting there completely unobservable other than from the sea itself.

The Maltese tended to shun the place – particularly the more well to do nouveau riche set of the population who chose to speak English as their first language as a badge of wealth and educational success.

All Maltese spoke perfect English, but these people considered themselves above any need to speak their own tongue other than at home where their parents continued to rule the roost. These youngsters tended to hang out in Valetta itself or at the newly developing MellihaBay hotels where they could water ski, drink and fuck all day and night long.

Libyan exiles on the other hand loved the Bahaar, as they had colloquially re named it, and made it their new home. They were all incredibly wealthy and although unable to return permanently to their earlier abodes, they remained very well connected in their homeland. They had built modern townhomes and villas on land which reminded them very much of the shore based living they had enjoyed in another life only a few hours away by fast boat.. 197 nautical miles to be precise!