In blinding heat, a French army patrol wound deep into the Atlas Mountains last week. Ambling, loose-jointed came a detachment of the Camel Corps, then a sweltering khaki-clad detachment of the Foreign Legion, finally a black-skinned, red-fezzed detachment of stalwart Senegalese. The column entered the pass called El Bordj. Nothing is there but blistering rocks, flat, cracked stretches of baked mud. The French column, losing contact with their flank outposts, pushed forward intent on reaching the evening's camp.
Suddenly from the rocks behind and above came the smash of rifle fire....
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