Read Chapter 9: — THE FIGHT

The new workers joined production before training was entirely complete.

Nobody liked the decision. The schedule left little choice.

At first experienced European crews were paired with local and expatriate recruits. On paper it was sensible: veterans teaching newcomers at the point of work. In practice it produced a multilingual chain of frustration.

One afternoon Toby came sprinting across the site.

“Daniel! They’re going to kill each other.”

“Who?”

“Possibly everyone.”

The dispute had begun between a British foreman named Frank Webb and a local worker named Hamad. Frank muttered constantly when stressed. Most of it was harmless profanity aimed at machinery, weather and existence itself. Hamad had assumed the noises meant nothing.

Then Frank inserted one clearly recognisable English insult.

Hamad understood that.

By the time Daniel arrived, more than a hundred workers had gathered. Tools were still in their hands. People shoved. Voices rose in Arabic, English, Urdu and two languages Daniel could not identify.

He pushed through the crowd, found Frank and caught his arm just as the man raised a spanner.

“Put it down.”

“He shoved me.”

“Put it down.”

Across the divide, Hamad was shouting. Daniel tried Arabic, but the crowd had stopped listening to sentences. Anger had become its own language.

Someone pushed Daniel from behind. He stumbled, caught an elbow near the eyebrow and felt warm blood run down his temple.

The sight of blood changed the mood.

Hands tightened on tools.

Then a loudhailer roared.

“EVERY TOOL ON THE GROUND. NOW.”

Graham Bennett stood on the side step of a project vehicle like an enraged field marshal.

The volume alone interrupted the momentum.

Owen drove. Graham continued.

“You want to fight? Fine. Fight me after dinner. Until then, the canteen has brought in enough grilled beef and lamb to feed the entire camp. Unlimited. Anyone still arguing can stay here and eat sand.”

The absurdity landed before the words did.

A few workers laughed.

Someone lowered a shovel.

Then another.

Daniel translated Graham’s offer into Arabic. A local supervisor repeated it through the loudhailer.

The crowd loosened.

Later, away from the noise, Daniel investigated the cause. Frank admitted his language had been unacceptable. Hamad admitted he had shoved first. Both apologised. The real problem, however, was not either man.

It was months of accumulated friction.

That evening Daniel told Graham, “Food will calm today. It won’t fix the system.”

Graham snorted. “Do you think I ordered two hundred kilos of meat as a peace treaty?”

“What are you planning?”

“A party.”

Daniel stared.

Owen smiled.

“For once,” he said, “the old man is thinking socially.”