"Just make sure we're ready please Captain."

Mufasa nodded his head. Wurtz left and Mufasa stared at the open door for a moment before gazing at the pistol. It had been ten years since he'd fired it last. He had shot a man. Through the brain. A man who had questioned his orders as Captain. A man who'd upset the harmony of his crew. A mutinous piece of scum who'd got what he deserved. A bullet between the eyes, dumped overboard off the coast of Madagascar and never received mention again from any of the crew.

Mufasa had seen the look on the SS Major's face. The German hadn't liked the pistol but had said nothing.

"Good!"

He checked to make sure that no one was nearby then reached around to the small of his back and pulled out a brand new Beretta pistol from the waistband of his trousers. He checked that it was fully loaded and that the safety catch was on. It was still shiny from being new and he huffed on it and polished it on his sweater before putting it back in his waistband. It was reassuring to feel it there. He knew he could pull it and use it at a moments notice.

*What does it have to do with these Germans anyway?'

They weren't his masters. He didn't take orders from them. Mufasa also knew that there were guns stashed about all over his ship and that most of his crew were armed anyway, all of them carrying at least one knife each.

Mufasa patted the gun behind his back.

"Maybe I'll get a chance to use you."

He had eleven crew to the fifty Germans and whatever was in that stone box hanging from the crane, well, Mufasa and his men knew it must be gold and the Germans wouldn't be watching it once they were safely out to sea. They wouldn't miss a bar or two.

Mufasa began smiling to himself. He was a man who'd fought off Barbary coast pirates many times. These disciplined Germans would be easy prey but one thing he knew. If the killing started that SS Major would have to be got rid of first. His smile turned into laughter as he started the engines and checked his controls.

Wurtz by now had rejoined the Doctor.

"How's it going Doctor?"

"I keep telling him," Von Brest pointed angrily at the crane operator "To slow down."

Wurtz looked at the man. He was a local to Gabes, very tanned and very nervous.

"Slow down!" Wurtz shouted at him.

"It's not my fault," the man babbled back in a mixture of Arabic and French. Not sure if the German officer understood either or both, "This is a very old crane and its controls are stiff."

"What's he saying?"

"I have no idea Doctor."

Wurtz rounded on some of his men standing by.

"Do any of you speak Arabic."

"I can a little Major."

"Get over there and tell him to calm down. Tell him if he damages that he can come personally to Berlin to tell Adolf Hitler."

"Yes Sir. But won't that make him more nervous."

"Just tell him. Tell him to keep his eyes on me and follow my instructions."

The soldier was right. The crane driver became more nervous.

"Look at me!" Wurtz bellowed at him.

The man nodded, trying to stay calm.

"Now bring it round. Slowly! Slowly!"

The lever was stiff. He glanced nervously at the knob he was trying to push. The crane hadn't received the proper hydraulic oiling in years.

"Keep your eyes on me."

The crane driver pushed forward on the lever. It was stiff. He applied more pressure. The lever unexpectedly shot forward. It turned the crane faster than he'd intended. The sarcophagus swung uncontrollably out and just as it reached its Zenith, without warning, one of the chains snapped midway. The links below the break smashed down and took a chunk out of the sarcophagus' side. Von Brest was absolutely livid at the damage. Wurtz rushed over to the crane driver who was frantically babbling his excuses again in at least three languages this time.

"Get out!" Wurtz shouted at him.

The man jumped down and cowered away from the SS Major.

"By rights I should have you shot for sabotage!"

The man had both his hands on his head, tears streaming down his face.

"Get out of my sight," Wurtz roared, raising a hand as if to strike him. The man fled in despair.

"You," Wurtz pointed at the soldier he'd sent earlier "Can you drive this crane?"

"I don't know Sir. I could try."

"Get up there quick before the whole bloody thing collapses."

Wurtz' man climbed reluctantly into the crane. He started by looking at all of the controls. There were no instructions and all of the details that had been on the knobs and levers had long since worn off. Wurtz held his hands out.

"What are you waiting for?"

"There are no instructions Sir. I don't know what any of this does."

"Well there's only one way to find out and you've got thirty seconds."

The sarcophagus was by now gently rocking back and forth, listing to one side because of the broken chain. Von Brest was at one point standing directly below it. He hadn't even considered what would happen to him if it now decided to fall.

"Get it down quickly," he shouted across at the new crane operator.

Wurtz dashed up the footholds and almost into the cab.

"Come on man! What are you waiting for?"

"Look Sir you can see the problem. There are noa."

"What does this do?" Wurtz pushed forward on a stiff lever. The crane swung back the opposite way. He tried the next one. The sarcophagus began to slowly rise. He pushed this lever forward and the tomb slowly began to lower. As soon as he could reach the damage Von Brest was feeling the rough edges where the chunk had been knocked out. He was furious. There was other damage caused by the flailing chain. The sarcophagus bumped the ground gently and the chains went slack. Wurtz ordered his men to pick up all significant pieces of crumbled stone from it. He showed them to the Doctor.

"We will repair it in Berlin. I will find the best sculptor Germany has to offer. Thank you Major."

Wurtz gave them to one of his men.

"Put them in a safe box. You are responsible for them until we reach Berlin."

"Yes Herr Major."

"Don't let them out of your sight. On your head. Understood?"

The man swallowed nervously.

"Yes Sir."

"Get more chains," Wurtz ordered.

"Major," Von Brest took his arm to stop him, "I think I would prefer it now if we could man handle it onto the ship."

"That could take some time Doctora."

"Have you not noticed that the gunfire has stopped."

Wurtz had to admit he hadn't. He listened now.

"Whatever the danger was is obviously over now."

"It sounded like quite a gun battle Doctor. You!" Wurtz spoke to one of his men "Go and find out what's happening. Find Colonel Koenig and get him back here where he is needed."

The SS man saluted and dashed off.

"The rest of you roll your sleeves up. We've got some hard work to do. Doctor they're all yours."

"Thank you. Men it is time to reveal what we're doing here. I know that some of you have speculated on our mission out here in Tunisia. I can tell you that mostly you have been wrong. Thisa." he said smacking the lid, "Is the greatest prize in the field of archaeology. The Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler, chancellor of the third Reich, envisioned a dream. His dream is for a thousand years of peace in the fatherland. Once his time has passed the Fuhrer wishes to be interred in the greatest tomb of all timea."

The gathered SS men, peered over each other to look at the plain stone sarcophagus with Egyptian hieroglyphics.

"Gentlemen we have achieved this for him. For I give you the last resting place of the greatest General who ever lived, the conqueror of Persia, the Macedonian lion, Alexander the great!"

Wurtz began clapping. Soon his men joined in to a huge round of applause for the evil little Doctor. This carried on for a further minute, then Wurtz put his hand up for silence.

"We have ropes, pulleys, all the materials necessary. Let's get the sarcophagus on board the ship as quickly as possible please without any further damage," he clapped his hands "Come on put your backs into it. Let's go men."

"Lets move out quietly," Alf said.

His group had been watching the whole thing. They'd seen Koenig leave, heard the fighting intensify, seen the chain break. Now a lucky break for them as all their opponents now seemed to be occupied.

Alf dashed silently across the road. He reached the edge of the dock where the tall reeds were. He crouched and turned to look back. Johnny came next. Then the S.A.S followed one by one. Once they were all safely across Tosh took point. They raced along the dockside. The smell of the sea strong in their nostrils. It reminded Alf of childhood holidays at Bournemouth. On they moved in silence, each man in the darkness just able to see his colleague in front. Where the reeds ran out Tosh gave the signal to stop and they crouched and waited. Just ahead were the first of the boats. The first two were sunken, their masts and rigging all that was visible above the surface of the water. A slick of debris and detritus clung around them. The next boat was an incredibly rusty fishing ship. It had once, in its history, been painted white with a blue stripe. But today it was streaked with brown to orange. A sad state for a once proud vessel. The next four were serviceable but all civilian boats and ships were forbidden to leave port due to the German retreat, their crews temporarily commandeered to help in the evacuation.

Tosh reached the first of the German motor boats. It was sitting low in the water. Tosh lay down and crawled forward, a silenced pistol clenched in his hand. He stopped as he heard movement on the boat. Someone was moving something about on deck. Tosh waited until he was sure that the person was alone then gave out a low whistle. A head appeared above the side of the boat and Tosh fired a single shot into it. The man had a blank look on his face as his blood splashed the deck behind him. He crumpled to the deck where his legs twitched a few times and then fell still. Tosh got up, peered inside the boat, signalled to Alf and crept on to the next one. Incredibly the two men in this boat were asleep. A shot each and they were no more.

Alf stepped onto the first boat. He instantly went down to the engine, took out a knife and cut the fuel line off. Petrol began leaking immediately. Alf took a roll of tape from his pocket and wrapped it around the severed end. He then placed the cable so that it didn't look obvious at first glance. Two other S.A.S came on board and they quickly undressed the dead men. One of them quickly stripped down to his vest and pants and put on one of the dead mans clothes. Then together they bundled them down the stairs and jammed them into a large upright locker. Alf and the other S.A.S man left and proceeded to the next boat. They repeated it all again. At each boat they were losing a man.

Three more to go.

At the next gunboat the downstairs locker was full so they gently lowered the dead body over the side and into the water. They let him slip the last two feet with hardly a splash. His head bumped against the side of the boat half a dozen times and then he bobbed up and down as the current pulled him away. He soon disappeared into the dark and out of sight.

"Do you think he'll be discovered?" Alf asked.

"Let's hope not. Any boats leaving that hit him will probably think it's just flotsam or jetsam or whatever they call it."

They took out the next three boats. Now members of the S.A.S slipped into the water and swam to commercial boats and ships. Their mission to attach mines to hulls of fishing boats, freighters, cargo carriers. The submarine they would attempt last. It was heavily defended and each diver knew there was a strong possibility they'd be caught. The last gunboat had been unmanned. Alf watched from over the side as the divers swam with mines and placed their charges in the darkness. Now they were ready. They hadn't lost a single man.

Johnny Larder ran across the empty road. Four men with him. They had watched Alf and his group secure the first of the patrol boats. Now they raced for the warehouses. The one man carrying the explosives at the back. Johnny peered around the huge double doors into the warehouse. It was a mess inside. Crates were piled high in places, smashed in others. Discarded or empty jerry cans littered the floor.

The five men crept inside. An iron walkway ran all around the inside of the roof. The Nazi flag hung limply from it at the far end directly above a red tank holding five thousand gallons of petrol. There were three other such tanks in the warehouse. The S.A.S men moved quickly using the crates as cover. They reached the first of the red tanks, it's gauge showing empty. The second showing three hundred gallons. The last two showing empty like the first. They quickly planted explosives on the four tanks and moved on. There would still be enough fuel in them to cause a fire. They left through a rear door and headed into the next warehouse. Inside this one men were working. Johnny peered around the doorway. More red tanks at the back, similar gantry above. Johnny got out of the way so Tosh could take the lead.

"Everyone got grenades?"

They all nodded.

"We'll throw them in, wait for the explosions, then storm them. On my count one, two, three."

Each man took a grenade and held it in front of himself.

"Pins out."

They fell to the floor with a little metallic ringing sound.

"ONE. TWO. THREE. THROW!" Tosh shouted.

The five men dashed to the doorway and threw their grenades. They ducked back for cover.

Corporal Josef Meier was operating his forklift truck when something came spinning past him. Puzzled he stopped the truck and jumped out to investigate. What was more and it sounded ridiculous was that he imagined it to be a British hand grenade. Half smiling to himself for being so stupid he crouched down to look under the front wheel for whatever it was. For safety reasons he didn't want to run it over.

He saw the item.

He didn't even have time to be afraid.

The grenade exploded turning Meier's face to ribbons of red. Blood pumped from his gashed throat. His fellow workers heard the crack of the grenade and stopped what they were doing, to stare. Their looks turned to horror as the other grenades exploded amongst them. The grenade that killed Meier had been cooked.

The five British rushed in and finished off any German that still moved with bursts from their Stens.

Outside Otto Wurtz turned from the sarcophagus to the direction of the gunfire.

"Mein Gott! They're in the warehouses!"

He pulled out his Luger and brandished it at his men.

"The warehouses! The warehouses!" he bellowed.