Shadowy War in the Sahara

Polisario. What is it? Someone's name? Some sort of police force? Actually, it is the latest in the long list of labels attached to the world's many guerrilla armies.

Like angry ants in a vast sandpile, the combatants in a little-known African war of liberation are carrying out search-and-destroy missions in the desolate 100,000-sq.-mi. area once known as the Spanish Sahara. On one side are an estimated 30,000 troops from Morocco and Mauritania, which claimed the land that Spain surrendered sovereignty over last year under strong United Nations pressure. Opposing are the 5,000 guerrillas of the Frente Polisario (for Popular Front for the Liberation of Saguia el Hamra and Rio de Oro, the two provinces involved). Polisario is fighting to gain independence for a new "Saharan Arab Democratic Republic" and the 100,000 people, mostly Reguibet tribesmen, it would represent.

TIME Correspondent David Beckwith, who spent two weeks with Polisario guerrillas in the desert, reports that so far the shadowy Sahara war is a standoff. The Moroccans and Mauritanians hold the villages but venture cautiously into the desert for fear of ambush; Polisario fighters as a result roam freely over much of the territory, boastfully but inaccurately declaring it "liberated." The guerrillas, though, have carried the war into both Morocco and Mauritania. Last June Polisario even attempted a mortar attack on the Mauritanian capital of Nouakchott (see map). Although the guerrillas lost 200 men, including Polisario's founder, Mohammed Wall, 28, in the battle, they consider the shelling of the Mauritanian capital a great victory. They have brought Mauritania close to economic disaster with periodic attacks on the 450-mile rail line, which brings the country's iron ore to the sea. In the north, Polisario has also shut down the vast Moroccan-controlled phosphate deposit at Bu Craa by harassing the mine and its 60-mile conveyor belt to Atlantic Ocean docks at Aaiun. The attacks, ironically, have helped Morocco's domestic phosphate industry by keeping supplies short.

Classic Guerrillas. The war shows no sign of ending, reports Beckwith, even though Morocco and Mauritania have lost about 1,000 men since last February. Other Arab governments--notably Saudi Arabia--have tried to work out a diplomatic settlement, so far without success. Supplied with East Bloc arms by Libya and Algeria, Polisario is able to struggle on from sanctuaries near the Algerian border town of Tindouf, where about 40,000 Saharoui refugees live in 22 camps. By helping the guerrillas, President Houari Boumedienne is able to keep a third of Archenemy King Hassan's Moroccan armed forces tied up in a frustrating and expensive war.

In classic guerrilla fashion, Polisario fighters are mounting up to five raids a week on enemy-held villages to drain the morale of the occupiers. Beckwith accompanied them on one mortaring mission and filed this account of a five-day, 900-mile venture:

The target was Amgala, five miles north of the Mauritanian border--the scene of a disastrous defeat of a combined Algerian-Saharoui force by a Moroccan armored column last February. Since then the Algerians have pulled their troops out of the Sahara. The 2,000 Saharoui residents of Amgala have also fled, and were replaced by 900 Moroccan soldiers. Polisario, as a result, shells Amgala regularly. The last attack, by another guerrilla force, occurred only three days before we set out.

Our assault was to take place in late afternoon so that any Moroccan F-5s scrambled from Aaiun, 120 miles away, would not find us before nightfall. Our force: four guerrillas in a 1974 Toyota Landcruiser and five more in an erratic 1965 Land-Rover. We crossed the Algerian border without incident. "Passaporto," joked one guerrilla in desert Spanish, stroking his Kalashnikov assault rifle. The vehicles rolled along wherever the drivers saw a path, whether it was soft sand or hard lava fields. Top speed under ideal conditions was 60 m.p.h.; our average was more like 20 m.p.h. We paused periodically to allow the guerrillas to pray, kneeling toward Mecca, and to wolf down strips of tough camel meat boiled in its own sinewy fat and garnished by dive-bombing flies.

At night we camped in the open; since headlights can be seen for ten miles in the desert, we bumped along in darkness looking for spots where talha trees or hills would provide protection. "A million-star hotel," jested one guerrilla familar with the Guide Michelin as he looked at the sky above. As soon as they camped, the guerrillas gathered branches and started a fire to warm themselves against the night chill. "In the past, I've made a big fire and hidden away near by," said Ahmed, the Toyota driver. "Then the Moroccans came to the fire and we trapped them. Now they're afraid of fire." Actually, the territory is so vast and Moroccan night patrols are so infrequent that detection would be a freakish misfortune.

Nearing Amgala, we switched to relatively new Land-Rovers in better repair; some had been captured in an ambush of Moroccan troops only three weeks earlier. More men arrived also; by the time we reached the target there were five cars containing 42 guerrillas and three 82-mm. recoilless rifles. Creeping around the town from the north, three carloads of guerrillas drove to within a mile of Amgala. Turbaned youths set up their Czech-made weapons pointing over the ridge. The other two cars, meanwhile, were posted to cover the escape. I crept up the black rocky terrain and rolled into a ridgetop foxhole dug for a previous bombardment.

Cut the Road. Our operation commander was Mohammed Fadel, 41, a former shopkeeper from Aaiun and a onetime French army noncom; when he gave an arm signal, the first rounds arched toward Amgala. After four blasts, the Moroccans returned fire. One shell exploded on hard lava 100 yards from a Polisario gun; most landed farther away, indicating either the enemy's inaccuracy or his confusion. Even so, after firing 19 rounds, the guerrillas suddenly dashed back to their cars and scurried away. As we drove down the ridge, another Moroccan round exploded 200 yards to the right. "Bombardimento," explained one young guerrilla helpfully.

Armed with bazookas and a recoilless rifle, a 13-man defense squad was already set up in front of us, ready to cut the road if the enemy emerged from Amgala. That would give the main party time to set up a full-fledged ambush several miles away. At that point, however, the guerrillas stopped for a celebration--building fires, cooking camel meat, boiling tea, praying and congratulating one another for hitting Amgala with at least eleven of the 19 rounds. After half an hour it became apparent that the Moroccans would not be coming out to fight that day. The fires were covered, and we started leisurely back to base camp, eight hours away--the first leg in a two-day ride across the immense desert to the safety of Algeria.

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