It felt heavy upon his back as he moved. It was so heavy, but the sand beneath him was soft and cold. The air stung his face and neck. A strange smell penetrated his nostrils. His ears were filled with a whispering sound.

            It might have been the scent of the night mixed with those wild herbs as he pushed his body crawling on sand. Yet it might have been the odour of something else as he was not used to such a slow, crawling pace at night. The battles he used to wage were quick ¬blitzkrieg-like - on mountain steppes, slopes and in forests. This battle now was waging so tempestuously within him, yet it made no noise. He was entering the war all alone and ever so slowly; slithering along like a snake deliberately slowly and cautiously. Anything might happen at any moment now!

            'I'll carry it ...' 'Imran?' 'Yes.'
            Quick directions ensued. The officer patted him on the shoulder and his comrades were enthused. Something ponderous was weighted down between his shoulder-blades. Latifa's eyes glittered with emotion.

            He remembers all that had taken place on the mountain and can well recall it clearly in the mind and yet it seems to be very remote. Only an hour ago the officer announced the mission. He volunteered:
            'I'll carry it ... '
            'Imran?' the officer asked.
            'Yes,' he replied.

            As he descended the bulge of the mountain making his way through ravines, the mission was secure on his back as well as in his heart and through every muscle and fibre of his being. He knew that his regiment would abandon the mountain for another place as soon as he reached his destination.

            As he struggled down the mountain paths he encountered broad, flattened stones; rough sharp rocks; perilous, slippery slopes; and yet  It felt no more than a resumption of his old, early battles. He was familiar with mountains. He loved them. He had waged many a lightning attack at their feet. A sense of preparedness and of verve began to rise in him dilating his nostrils. How he wished then to be able to leap on his enemy with a loud battle cry, calling his comrades as he showered terror from his automatic gun!

            Imran passed his hand over his shoulder. He sensed the weight and pushed his fingers into the sand, tightening his fist on a handful of it.

            His gun was there. He had never parted with it for a single moment before. It became a part of him - a strong, integral part that knew well how to speak to enemies decisively and fast! It was there. A new fighter will take it or they may use it to replace an old, faulty gun. How he wished to fall upon it now and hold it in his arms! He would then rise up thundering his battle cry, calling his comrades as he leapt like a panther with his gun chattering and resounding in the din of whistling bullets flying past!

            He was overwhelmed with this sensation as he climbed down the mountain carrying his task on his back and leaving his regiment behind. He did not actually miss his gun as he climbed down the mountain. He was only convinced that once he reached the bottom of it and spotted a passing enemy he would perforate his body with holes.

            'Our guns are truly ourselves.'
            Latifa said these words to him as they were standing opposite one of the headquarters.
            He was then holding his gun against his leg, busily cleaning and burnishing it.
            'Our guns are truly ourselves.'
            Still carrying on with the task in hand, he responded saying; 'But we are more than guns - we are strong. The guns are always in our hands.'

            But now he does not know the secret of the new feeling which began to take hold of him. It was an odd sensation which crept in the moment he left the mountain without his gun. The mountain seemed now like a huge mass of darkness behind him, while there stretched before him an endless, soundless, flat surface of cold sand charged with a terrifying hush. It seemed like a whispering sound as he crawled across a sea of silence never casting a glance behind at the mountain where he had left his comrades.

            One hour and a half had passed since he left, but time in his perception began to stretch and expand as though he was recalling memories mantled with the passage of many long years!

            This inching along and the intimidation of what the darkness may hold in store as he stretched along the soft sand, pulling and releasing his body like a snake, filled him with apprehension. This dragging on held within its folds at every moment some cause for anxiety, for he was without his gun which he cherished more than his own limbs. He remembered the enthusiasm of his colleagues which so fired his mind and heart; the persistence with which Latifa's eyes shone, whose image was reflected on the face of every rock as he climbed down the mountain; and the big, rough, affectionate hand of his officer with a finger blown off in the war, patting his shoulder, communicating to him something bigger than could be expressed in words. But all of that was gone - nothing would be with him as he carried his weight to its destination. Amidst silence and apprehension he was carrying his mission all alone.

            The night was thickening and Imran moved further and further into the desert. His hands were ever stretching forward and his feet pushing backwards in a slow, precise rhythm. The whispering sound in his ears grew louder emerging from what seemed to be an invisible source.

            That thing secured on his back grew heavier as he crawled on. The weight intensified and pressed against him, making him feel as though he were carrying the bulk of the mountain, shifting its mass to some other place. This thought astounded him. Could he really lift a mountain? His colleagues were still on the summit and there he was carrying them all, together with his gun and Latifa. They were so near now. They were actually with him! How could he have left them elsewhere?..

            ….Silence and the slow pace make him apprehensive? Was not the lofty earth on which his comrades stood and on whose rocks and slopes he fought so ferociously moving along with him? Surely he was carrying them all on his back. -There's the affectionate hand with missing finger still patting his shoulder, expressing something stronger than any feeling and there too Latifa with her eyes ever twinkling before him. The enthusiasm of his colleagues was still kindling that flame in his heart and in place of one he now had a hundred guns!

            His elbow hit a piece of stone which he pushed away. The sand was getting much colder. The stars were shining with a dim light. Imran suddenly realised that the sand beneath him began to vanish and in its place short shrubs were hitting against his body. He knew that he must be approaching his target.

            He could not distinguish anything in the distance but he froze for a moment and pushed his body flat against the earth burying his head in the grass. Powerful floodlights like betraying eyes were intermittently and surreptitiously scanning the area ever so slowly revealing, as they cast their beams across the distance, a fence of barbed wire. Fluttering shadows of the shaken barbed wire began to form against the grass. As the light scanned the distance the shadows floated menacingly like impending death! It was death!

            Imran held his breath and pressed his body further and further into the grass as though he had become rooted to the ground.

            The light from the tall tower was drawing an arc from left to right. Imran could hear its sound like the rustle of leaves - like the blade of a sharp knife drawn against him. He sank more closely to the earth. He had not yet approached the fence of barbed wire, but the searchlight was throwing its rays further that the perimeter of the fence.

            The light drew nearer and nearer until it reached Imran himself. He felt its rays pressing against his back so heavily. It was more ponderous than any mountain. It was crushing his ribs and ripping his back in two. At that moment as he embraced death there were unleashed in him fears and strange perceptions which he had never seen so clearly before.

            As the rays of light lingered about him, he became tense. He tasted fear for the first time. He had not known fear before. It was sweeping through him like a mighty torrent crushing him to bits and making his heart shrink. Then all of a sudden the shadow of night descended once more. The lethal shaft of light had moved away casting slowly moving shadows of vibrating wires against the grass. It kept on receding in to the distance until silence prevailed. It was a 'rustling' silence in the wake of the light which had vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

            Imran lifted his head and began to move his body along the grass. The experience had made him giddy.

            How and why was he afraid? In the darkness a smile of recognition began to break over his lips. 'I know the reason!' he thought. He felt light and agile. The battle cry was gathering momentum in his heart as he proceeded to crawl.

            He was afraid to die. He was perturbed as the prospect of certain death took him unawares.
            But had he not chosen that fate himself? Was it not he who had planned it all? Surely he had not left the mountain top with that heavy burden on his back without expecting to face death! He had volunteered for it for the sake of the mission.

            The fear which gripped him was not for his own fate but rather lest he should fail to fulfil his duty. Should he meet death before its accomplishment his volunteering will have been futile.

            'I'll carry it.' 'Imran?' 'Yes.'
            It was still against his shoulder but it did not feel heavy any more. It was as light as a feather. The heaviness he had felt as he crawled on the sand was the weight of fear. Something might have sprung on him from out of the folds of darkness to end his journey at an earlier stage.

            The journey as he had planned it was nearing its end. His target in the form of a dark building stood only feet away. He moved in between the barbed wire with agility and speed. A steel spike ripped open his cheek but he did not feel the cut. He was stronger than steel and its hidden spikes; mightier than the dark building; more powerful than anything he could think of. An extraordinary strength swept through him empowering his arms and erupting in his whole body like a volcano.

            'Our guns are truly ourselves.'
            'But we are more than mere guns. We are stronger.'

            Latifa was now approaching him - growing larger and larger ¬carrying in her hands a cluster of shimmering stars which she scattered on his shoulders. The affectionate, rough palm of the officer grew in size until it filled the horizon waving and greeting him. The enthusiasm of his friends was now illuminating the sky above and the earth below.

            'We are stronger.'
            Imran was no longer aware of himself. He was only conscious that the feeling of loneliness had slipped away giving rise to a new sensation.
            'We ...'
            Indeed it was the spirit of Algiers! It was the mountains and the dales and the wilderness and the people and the hundreds of children, all with eyes like Latifa's. Latifa may die too. So may thousands of others - but the homeland will remain.

            His veins swelled as he nimbly undid the huge bundle fixed on his back. He was quick as a bullet. He got ready and then glanced at the gate of the French station. A dim shaft of light was streaming from inside breaking its beams against the stony threshold. The footsteps of heavy boots clattered in the distance.

            Imran struck a match. His taut, glowing features were lit. The flame moved slowly towards the bundle and when the wick caught fire Imran embraced the bundle tightly to his chest. He lifted his head and gave a resounding cry which echoed through the walls as he dashed through the gate.

            In his mind the thought, 'They are waiting at the mountain top,' kindled his violent wrath.

            A few fearful moments passed.

            Then the explosion reverberated like rolling thunder.