Fort Whore

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Copyright Oggbashan December 2010

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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Fort Vauxrein was the worst Foreign Legion posting in Algeria. It was originally built to protect an isolated water hole on a significant camel-trading route. It gradually lost its purpose as other water holes on the route failed, making the camel route impracticable.

No one came. No one passed the fort. No one challenged its hold on useless desert. The only people who came to the fort were replacements for its tiny garrison. The posting was for the Foreign Legions misfits, not its criminals, but those deemed incapable of becoming competent soldiers. In the 1930s it had become an embarrassment to the French authorities in Algeria.

The only officer was a superannuated Ensign. He wouldn't accept retirement because he had nowhere to go. The Legion had been his whole life once his aristocratic family had discarded him as unsuitable even for breeding stock. His only success in life was in persuading his superiors to keep Fort Vauxrein as a base for incompetence. He enjoyed reading in his library, drinking fine wine in moderation, and the luxury of sole command that had nothing to do.

The four sub-officers had shown, over and over again, that they had no leadership skills. The handful of the eighteen privates who knew how to load their rifles couldn't hit an elephant at fifty yards. The Legion had equipped them with the most useless and ancient rifles in their stores.

Fort Vauxrein had guns. Plenty of guns. They had been hauled over the desert in the mid-19th Century and carefully mounted to command all the approaches to the Fort. Apart from the test firing on installation, they had never fired a shot, and shot was all they fired – grapeshot or solid iron cannon balls.

The soldiers drilled with those cannon several times a week. Even they couldn't make errors with 18th Century muzzle-loading cannon. The fort's Commandant wasn't convinced. They loaded canvas cartridges filled with sand, rammed the cannon balls down the muzzles, stood with lit tapers and applied the taper to the touchholes. On Bastille Day and New Year's Day something would happen because they placed a small sprinkling of powder on the cannons' touchholes for the celebrations. The set of small flashes was Fort Vauxrein's firework display.

Once a quarter the garrison fired real cannonballs. The sand-filled cartridges were replaced by gunpowder-filled ones. The sub-officers made sure that no soldier stood in front of the muzzles, and one by one the Commandant ordered the cannon to fire. They fired half the cannon in the morning, stopped for the midday meal and a siesta, and fired the remaining cannon in the early evening. The sand dunes around the fort showed deep scars caused by the cannon balls. The next morning a detail had to collect all the cannon balls and bring them back to the fort for re-use.

The fort had only one asset. It had a resident cantiniere, Anne-Marie. She was the cook, the barmaid, the laundress, the supplier of small items such as tobacco and sweets, and the fort's whore.

No one knew how old Anne-Marie was. She had been a fixture even before the Commandant. She was a large, plump woman who admitted she had never been attractive even in the remote past when she was young. She had come to Fort Vauxrein long before the First World War because she knew she would be the only woman there. As the fort's cantiniere she would have no competition for her trading activities and her body. At any other fort or garrison she would not be the whore of choice.

Alone of all the fort's inhabitants, Anne-Marie had contacts with the local tribe. She traded with them, exchanging goods from the capital for fresh goat's milk, vegetables, meat and anything else that the fort needed. She exchanged information with the tribeswomen to their mutual benefit.

Each time she wanted to trade she would take a couple of loaded mules and ride the third. Some of the soldiers felt sorry for the third mule, carrying Anne-Marie's heavy body.

Anne-Marie was reputed to be the richest cantiniere in Algeria. The fort's garrison spent almost all their pay with her, either for goods or for sex. Twenty-three men's pay wasn't a fortune, but that pay over many years had built up to a considerable sum because Anne-Marie's prices weren't cheap.

Each man could have a night with Anne-Marie once a month, if he could afford it. Almost all of them did. The sub-officers could pay for more than one night a month. Anne-Marie went to the Commandant's bed every Sunday night.

Although her physical charms were very faded, her sexual skill in providing whatever each individual soldier wanted was legendary. After all, she had practised on generations of soldiers. For the past twenty years her skills were demonstrated in a darkened room. Anne-Marie, with the lights out, could be any soldier's dream partner. In broad daylight in the desert sun, she could be his nightmare.

The sub-officers and soldiers of Fort Vauxrein had one skill that they had brought to perfection through repeated practice. They could paint. They painted the buildings. They painted the fort's walls. They painted the rocks. They painted the fort's horse drawn carts, the sand-wrecked armoured car that would never move again. This palled after a time and they began to experiment with murals. The inside walls of the soldiers' quarters were painted with erotic scenes of imaginary women in lascivious poses.

The murals were painted time and time again becoming more erotic with every renewal. Any visiting officers were given a guided tour of the artwork and marvelled at what could be produced with the inspiration of the one elderly fat woman present in the fort.

Life at Fort Vauxrein had been the same, year in and year out, for dozens of years until two separate decisions were taken, far apart, but about the same time.

The French government decided that Fort Vauxrein should be abandoned to the desert. It was a convenient dumping place for useless soldiers but another place could be used. Resupplying Fort Vauxrein was expensive.

The local tribal chief had too many sons and his eldest son was worried about his inheritance being cut into too many small pieces for his brothers and half-brothers. The sons would become adult at twenty-one years. If one son inherited, any sons who were not adult at the time of the chief's death were likely to perish from 'childhood illnesses'. Any who were adult might have a 'hunting accident'. If the inheritance was divided then the process of elimination might involve civil war before one could become undisputed chief.

The son, known as Ahmed the Reckless for his propensity to rush in where fools feared to tread, challenged his father to declare that the eldest son should inherit the whole of the tribe's meagre assets and the large area of infertile land they controlled.

Ahmed's father had never been convinced that his eldest son would be suitable to lead the tribe. Ahmed was a lightweight, even by the standards of his tribesmen who were always close to starvation. He was shorter than the tribe's norm and lightweight in applied brainpower as well as body. Apart from being reckless, Ahmed had a chief adviser, Suleyman (known, but not to his face, as 'the Slimy') who had ambitions to be the real power behind the chief. Suleyman kept Ahmed's bed supplied with a succession of willing women eager to be the mother of a child in line for chief's son.

All the women knew they owed their chance to Suleyman, and reported exactly how Ahmed had responded to them, what his sexual preferences were, and anything Ahmed said that he shouldn't. One of Ahmed's repeated wishes is that some of the women would wear European clothing including underwear. So far Suleyman had been unable to meet that request but thought that it might be possible if Anne-Marie was approached through intermediaries.

The chief wanted to dash Ahmed's ambitions so that a more suitable heir could be appointed and didn't want Suleyman anywhere near the reins of power. The chief also knew exactly what his eldest son's sexual preferences were because the women reported discreetly to him as well as Suleyman.

The chief told his son that he would consider whether Ahmed was suitable to succeed as chief of the tribe if Ahmed would successfully complete a challenge that his father would set. If Ahmed failed – he would be passed over for another. If Ahmed declined the challenge – he would be passed over for another. Would Ahmed accept the challenge?

Ahmed instantly agreed. His father sighed. Ahmed was being reckless, again. He should have tried to find out the terms of the challenge before answering.

"Very well, Ahmed," the chief said. "I think you might need the help of your friend Suleyman. Both of you come at dusk. I will assemble the elders of the tribe and tell you, and them, the terms of your challenge."

Ahmed saluted his father and left to seek Suleyman. Suleyman was not pleased.

"What is the challenge? What will you have to do? You have no idea but you have accepted? Suppose your father asks you to fly to the moon. You have already accepted the challenge. You would fail and your status as presumed heir would be lost."

Ahmed tried to persuade Suleyman that the chief wouldn't be so unreasonable as to set an obviously impossible task. Suleyman was not sure. He knew that the chief was wiser than Ahmed believed.

When Ahmed and Suleyman appeared before the assembled elders, Suleyman was worried. This could mean the end of his plots, his long-term plan to rule through Ahmed.

Ahmed was excited. If the challenge was reasonable, he was sure that he could succeed and become his father's heir.

The chief announced the terms of the task that Ahmed had to perform. Suleyman carefully wrote down the chief's words as he spoke them.

"Ahmed. The task I am setting you is to convince me that you might (the chief emphasised 'might') be a suitable successor to me when I die. You agreed to accept the challenge earlier today, didn't you?"

Ahmed tried to produce a sonorous reply to match his chief's formal words. It came out as a squeaked "Yes!"

"Very well. Our traditional enemies, the occupiers of our land, are the French. They are far more powerful than we are. We cannot face them in open battle so we must harry them when we can. We have to practise deceit, to act secretly, to strike and then vanish into the desert, yet what do we achieve? Our best and boldest warriors die to inflict pinpricks on the French that scarcely trouble them.

Your task is to do something more than a pinprick. Yet I am reluctant to lose more of our warriors. So..."

The chief paused to allow Suleyman's frantic scribbling to catch up. He spoke very slowly and clearly so that every word could be heard by the elders and the wider population of the tribe.

"...without losing the lives of a single one of our warriors, nor incurring injury to any of our warriors, and without being humiliated in any way, you must take something from the French garrison of Fort Vauxrein that they are unwilling to lose. If you can do that, I might consider you as a potential successor. No more than that. A potential successor."

Ahmed looked up at the repeat of 'potential successor'. What did his father mean?

His father looked back at him.

"I said 'potential successor' because at present you are not. So far your life and conduct has not been suitable for a future chief. If you succeed, you might have changed my opinion of you, and more importantly, the opinions of the council of elders who will decide after my death, no matter what my wishes might have been in life, exactly who will become the next chief."

The elders nodded. One of them stood up, walked across to Ahmed, and handed him a scroll.

The chief spoke again:

"That scroll contains the exact words of the task I have outlined. Your advisor has been scribbling unnecessarily."

At same time as Ahmed was being told the terms of his task, the fort's commandant was re-reading a letter he had received with the supply delivery. The letter told him that Fort Vauxrein was to be abandoned. None of its stores, armaments, nor equipment were considered worth saving.

The only item the authorities were concerned about was the fort's magazine full of gunpowder. Gunpowder was useless to any other unit but it should not be allowed to fall into the hands of the tribesmen. The commandant was instructed to expend all the gunpowder without damaging the fort. The structure might have a future use, if only to protect the waterhole from the encroaching desert.

The next day was a Sunday. That day Anne-Marie set out with her three donkeys to the tribesmen's encampment. She had some unusual items in her trade goods. In response to some of the women's requests she had raided her wardrobe for the underwear and clothing she had worn many years ago when she had been comparatively slim. She also had a couple of mail-order catalogues of cheap women's clothing. She could order for the tribeswomen, get the items with the fort's next supply train, and bring them on her donkeys.

At the encampment she retreated with the women into the darkened ladies-only tent. There she produced her battered suitcase of ancient clothing. The women were disappointed. Even in their backwater they were aware that voluminous directoire panties, ankle-length slips, hobble skirts and Gibson-girl corsets were not fashionable however well made. They agreed to look after the suitcase for Anne-Marie and sat down for the real business of swapping gossip and examining the delights of the mail-order catalogues.

Their main item of information was the challenge that the chief had given Ahmed. They had the challenge word-perfect and had even written it down for Anne-Marie to take with her. None of the women considered Ahmed to be a suitable chief, almost all preferring anyone but Ahmed.

Who else might be suitable depended at first on the particular woman's male relatives. The arguments were fierce but the majority thought that the chief's third son, unusually named James after his maternal grandfather, was the best of a limited choice. Unfortunately James was still too young to succeed if his father were to die within the next two or three years, but after that? He would be their choice.

Anne-Marie asked if she could meet or perhaps see James. His aunt went to fetch him. At his age of nineteen he could still enter the women's quarters, if more than one woman was present, without causing a scandal. Next year that would be difficult, the year after, impossible.

When James arrived the other women left, except his aunt.

"What do you want from me, Anne-Marie?" James asked in French.

"You speak French, James?" Anne-Marie was surprised.

"And English. I went to school in Algiers. So, what do you want from me?"

"You know of your father's challenge to Ahmed?"

"Yes."

"And you want him to fail?"

"Of course. I don't want to die. Being Ahmed he will probably fail anyway, but I might be prepared to assist in that failure."

"And accept help?"

"Ah. Accepting help means accepting an obligation. It depends whether the help is worth the obligation, Anne-Marie."

"OK. What I need is permission to continue to trade with the tribe. Until now it has been of mutual benefit..."

"...your prices are rather high, Anne-Marie, but taking into account the delivery costs and the ten per cent commission you pay to the chief,

not wholly unreasonable. If I were fortunate enough to become chief, we could probably continue the arrangement to our mutual benefit. It would of course expire when you do. You are not likely to live as long as me, unless something untoward happens to me..."

"...and that we will try to avert, James."

"Very well. What do you suggest?"

"If Ahmed is going to take something from Fort Vauxrein, he can't do it from here."

James nodded.

"He will have to set up a base much closer, and there is only one possibility, the Well of Miriam."

"True."

"If he were to be surrounded and ambushed there, he would have lost his challenge."

"Also true, but that could be dangerous both for those unfortunate enough to follow him, and to those who ambush him, that is assuming that the ambushers will be Fort Vauxrein's incompetents. They might kill one of ours by mistake, or worse still, one of their own. I wouldn't trust any of them with live ammunition unless they were five miles from me."

"James, have you considered any suggestions for making Ahmed fail?"

"Yes, Anne-Marie. Humiliation is one of the fail factors. Humiliation of Ahmed would be sufficient. I wouldn't want any of our tribe humiliated even if they are led by Ahmed."

"How could he be humiliated?"

"That's where you can help."

"Me? You mean me, personally?"

"Yes. You have an enviable reputation for sexual prowess that belies your, forgive me, appearance. Our women have learned much from you. If Ahmed is informed of your skills he will be determined to experience them for himself. If you can get him into an embarrassing situation, he will have failed his challenge, no one will be injured, and the way will be clear for me in a few years' time. Do you think you could contrive that, with help from our women?"

Anne-Marie considered James' question for a few minutes.

"I think so. If I could be 'captured' by Ahmed's men and brought to the Well of Miriam, with help from the women with him, I have an idea that will humiliate him. I don't think you had better know what my idea is. Can you arrange for the women to cooperate?"

"I shouldn't. I shouldn't even know that there is a plot. But my aunt can."

James spoke rapidly to his aunt in the local dialect. He knew that Anne-Marie could understand him. His aunt agreed to help. He left the two women together to work out details.

Anne-Marie returned to Fort Vauxrein that evening. Unusually she asked to see the commandant. In his office she asked whether she could speak to him in private. The commandant raised his eyebrows and ordered the duty sub-officer from the room.

"What is it that is so secret, Anne-Marie?" he asked.

Anne-Marie explained what she had learned, the discussions with James, and produced the written details of the task set for Ahmed. The commandant laughed. From the drawer of his desk he produced the letter he had received ordering him to abandon the fort. He handed it to Anne-Marie.

"You see? Ahmed can't take anything from us that we are unwilling to lose. We are abandoning the fort and everything in it except the gunpowder, and the authorities don't want even that."

"There is one item you and the garrison don't want to lose..." Anne-Marie said slowly.

"...and what's that?"

"Me."

"You?"

"Think about it, commandant. I'm the only person or thing that the whole garrison value, if only for the credit I give them between pay allotments. If Ahmed captured me, he would have met his father's challenge."

"But he doesn't know that you are the only thing of value, does he?"

"Nor does his father, nor James. But if he were to capture me, he might try to persuade you to surrender the fort in exchange for my release."

"And that letter gives me authority to surrender the fort. But then Ahmed would appear to win. That wouldn't do. He could be an embarrassment to the authorities."

"But if I escaped while the exchange was being negotiated? That would embarrass him."

"It would. Can you guarantee your escape?"