Return Of the Fallen. Rita Vetere

      Four in the morning found Jared Crow wide awake in his bunk. A sliver of a breeze filtered through the flap of his tent and caressed its fingers lightly over his body. He spent the next little while savoring the pre-dawn tranquility. Soon enough he’d be sweltering under a relentless desert sun, its oppressive heat covering the scorched earth like a membrane.

      Eventually, he rose, lit his lantern and washed at the makeshift sink. Despite the encampment’s primitive conditions, Jared remained meticulous about his appearance. With his face lathered to shave, he tilted his head to one side in order to view his reflection with his good eye. He frowned at the image in the mirror as the razor slid up the right side of his neck to the jaw line. Blind in his left eye since birth, Jared had long ago learned to ignore its milky appearance, but the deep tan he had acquired accentuated it, so it stood in sharp contrast to his other azure eye. The slight lines creasing his forehead and around his mouth seemed more deeply entrenched. Months of living like a nomad in the desert had taken its toll. He stared back at the gaunt face, displeased. Jared Crow was not a man used to foregoing his comforts.

      March already, and they had scoured this godforsaken desert since November. If he didn’t locate what he had come in search of soon, sirocco season would be on them, which meant it would be next winter before the expedition could resume. The deadly sandstorms that blasted the desert in the spring months could easily bury them all alive. Jared, however, refused to entertain the possibility of another setback. Today the desert would yield its secret. He felt it in his gut.

      When he finished shaving, he brushed away the sand that had accumulated during the night on the small wooden table. The desert encroached on anything that tried to stake a claim. It covered every surface, found its way into bedding, crept into clothing, and even food, with patient persistence. After a breakfast of coffee and bean cakes, he donned a long-sleeved light cotton shirt, fresh khaki pants, sturdy boots and a hat to keep off the blazing sun. He poured electrolyte powder into a liter-bottle of water and packed it in an insulated sling bag with another five liters of plain water, a compass, a cotton scarf, food and a gun.

      Just before five o’clock, he stepped outside his tent to address the crew chief, a swarthy little Egyptian named Hamadi. “Are we ready?”

      “Yes, Mr. Crow,” Hamadi replied before issuing directions to the locals in their native tongue. The workers, twenty-seven men garbed in white jellabayas and turbans, gathered their supplies and set out. Snatches of their conversation in Arabic drifted back to Jared, harsh and throaty sounds that seemed to resonate with hostility. Embers from the hand-rolled cigarettes the men smoked glowed like fireflies here and there, marking their path.

      The archaeologist, a lanky man in his mid-forties named Miller, exited his tent and fell into step next to Jared. Miller’s fair complexion did not get along well with the desert sun. His face, neck and forearms were badly sunburned, as had been the case since his arrival.

      He peered at Jared through wire-rimmed spectacles. “What do you say, Jared? Will today be our lucky day?”

      Miller was necessary to his expedition, but the man’s constant babbling grated on Jared’s nerves more often than not. Jared glanced at him, certain the day would indeed prove to be lucky, although not necessarily for Miller. “Yes, I believe it may be,” he responded, even though he knew Miller remained clueless as to what he hoped to uncover today.

      The dig site rested less than a mile to the south. Jared insisted that work start each morning before sunrise. By the time the sun climbed to its fiery apex, nothing—human or animal—could withstand its incinerating heat.

      The archaeologist who plodded along beside him pointed at two swirling spires of sand spinning in the air ahead of them. “Sand devils.”

      Jared grunted an acknowledgment. Time was running out. Another flash of intuition sped through him, reassurance that his search was nearly at an end. He chose not to converse with Miller as he trudged across the never-ending waterless sand that stretched out before him, neither hurrying nor dawdling.

      Morning had purpled the eastern sky by the time they arrived at the excavation site. A canopy had been erected near the pit where Jared and Miller could retire from the worst of the day’s heat, and from where Jared could keep an eye on things. The excavation, after weeks of labor, extended approximately fifty feet wide and thirty feet deep. Jared stood watching as the workers descended into the pit to commence the day’s work, then retired to the open tent to wait.

      * * * *

      By noon they had uncovered nothing, and Hamadi ordered the men to halt. Annoyed at the slow pace of the proceedings, and even more so by Miller’s ceaseless chatter, Jared jumped from his chair and walked over to where Hamadi stood.

      “No,” Jared corrected him. “Another hour. Then we’ll stop.”

      Hamadi opened his mouth to protest, but Jared cut him off. “You heard me. Keep digging.”

      Hamadi glared at him, but instructed the men to continue. Amid low grumbles and complaints, the workers picked up their tools and carried on.

      Jared turned to find Miller standing behind him, a frown on his face.

      “Might not be wise to push the locals too hard.”

      Jared did not dignify him with a response and brushed past him to return to the tent.

      The next little while passed in silence. Miller returned to sit next to him but did not open his mouth again, which suited Jared fine. Before an hour had gone by, one of the men called up from the excavation.

      Jared hurried over to Hamadi. “What is it?”

      “They’ve uncovered something.”

      “Tell them to stop,” Jared said.

      He descended into the pit, Miller right on his heels. When he reached the bottom, Jared saw the workers had uncovered what appeared to be a mound of large rocks. A marker of some sort, perhaps.

      “Remove them,” Jared ordered.

      “The men cannot continue working in this heat,” Hamadi called from the edge of the excavation.

      Jared glanced up to see him standing with legs apart and arms folded across his chest, dark eyes narrowed against the sun.

      “Tell them I will pay each of them a bonus equal to what they are owed if they uncover what is under those rocks today.”

      The crew chief’s eyes widened, but he translated Jared’s offer to the workers. They agreed to continue, as he had expected they would.

      One of the men was sent back to the encampment to obtain more water and food while the rest of the team lifted the heavy rocks and placed them to one side of the excavation.

      When, almost two hours later, all the