It was always going to come down to this.
From Morocco I had tracked him across North Africa, I missed him by minutes in Algiers (the fire embers were still warm) and I pushed all night through Tunisia following a bad lead and a cold trail. Finally I caught up with him in Libya near the Egyptian border. I knew it was never going to be easy, I was on his territory and he could travel for days without food and water, not a bad trick when you make the desert your home. We faced each other, miles and miles of sand dunes the only witness to our final endgame. He had the upper hand as he had his back to the setting sun, and of course, he had those damn eyelids that filtered out the sand and grit that was so cruelly blurring my vision. He went for his piece, I went for mine, two shots rang out…I staggered, the bullet had grazed my temple. He stood there, all two metres of him from hump to ground, staring at me with those big eyes, and then fifteen hundred pounds of dromedary crashed into the sand. I had smoked my first Camel.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Thu 20 Mar 2008, 11:07, Reply)