Текст книги "A Time to Die"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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Sean knew that Riccardo had an avid interest in the old-time elephant hunters, so he enlarged on their careers.

"If you want to do it the way "Karamojo" Bell did it, Capo, you have to walk like this. Bell wore out twenty-four pairs of boots a year and had to replace his porters and gun bearers every few weeks. They just couldn't keep up with him."

"That was the golden age." Riccardo extended his stride a little as he thought about it. "You and I should have lived then, Sean.

We were born after our time."

"A true hunter should kill a great elephant with his legs. He should walk him down. That's the respectful and proper way, and that is what you are doing now, Capo. Enjoy every step you take, for you are treading in old Bell's footprints."

Unfortunately the effects of Sean's encouragement were not enduring; within an hour Riccardo was flagging again and Sean noticed a new, disconcerting unsteadiness in his gait. He stumbled and would have fallen had not Sean caught his arm.

"We all need a five-minute break and a cup of tea." Sean led him to the shade.

When Job brought the tea mugs, Riccardo mumbled, "Have you got a couple more aspirins for me?"

"You all right, Capo?" he asked as he handed him the tablets.

"Damned headache again, that's all." But he would not meet Sean's eyes.

Sean looked across at Claudia, who was sitting close beside her father, but she also avoided his gaze. "Do you two know something I don't?" Sean demanded. "You both look guilty as hell." He didn't wait for an answer but stood up and went to join Job at the small fire where he was baking a fresh batch of maize cakes for their evening meal.

"The aspirin will make you feel better," Claudia told her father softly.

"Of course. Aspirin's a surefire cure for cancer once it reaches the brain," he agreed. Then, as he saw her agonized expression, he blurted out, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. Self-pity isn't my usual style."

"Is it bad, Papa?"

"I can tolerate the headache, but I'm getting a little double vision that worries me," he admitted. "Damn it, I was feeling so well a few days ago. It's all happened so quickly."

"The exertion," she said, pitying him. "Perhaps that's what has aggravated it. We should turn back."

"No," he said with utter finality. "Don't even talk about that again."

She inclined her head in aquiescence.

"The swamps aren't far ahead. Perhaps we'll have a chance to rest," she said.

"I don't want to rest," he said. "I realize just how little time I have left. I don't want to waste a moment of it."

Sean came back to them. "Are you ready to go on?"

Claudia glanced at her wristwatch. They had rested for less than half an hour. It was too short and she would have protested, but her father pushed himself to his feet.

"All set," he said, and she could see that even the short break had refreshed him.

They had been going only a few minutes when Riccardo said, quite cheerfully, "Those hamburgers Job has cooked smell just great. Makes me feel hungry."

"Those hamburgers are maize cakes," Sean chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you. "You can't bullshit me." Riccardo chuckled with him. "I can smell the fried onions and beef."

"Papa." Claudia looked back over her shoulder and frowned sharply, and Riccardo stopped chuckling and looked distraught.

"There might be hallucinations," Doc Andrews had warned Claudia. "He may begin to see things or imagine various odors. I can't give you an exact progress of the disease, of course, and there may be periods of swift deterioration followed by longer periods of remission. Just remember, Claudia, that his fantasies will be very real to him, and episodes of hallucination can be followed by periods of complete lucidity."

That evening Sean would not stop to brew tea. "We have to try and make up the ground we've lost," he told them, so they ate the cold maize cakes and biltong-slivers of salted, air-dried venison-on the march.

"One large hamburger with fried onions and all the trimmings coming up, Capo," Sean teased him. Claudia glared at him, but Riccardo laughed uneasily and munched on the unappetizing fare as he walked.

They no longer had a spoor to follow, so Sean kept going lOng after night had fallen. The long, tortuous miles fell slowly behind them and the brilliant southern stars burned over their heads. It was almost midnight before they stopped and unrolled their sleeping bags.

Sean let them sleep until the dawn light was strong enough to make out the way ahead. The landscape had changed. During the night they had entered the region that was held in thrall by the great Zambezi. These were ancient flood plains that were inundated when the river broke its banks during the torrential rainy season.

They were dry now, although almost devoid of trees; a few long dead mo pane and acacia thorn trees drowned by the floods still held up twisted bare branches to the hazy blue sky, standing out on the empty plains like lonely sentinels.

As they moved out into the open, the dried mud had cracked in to brick lets beneath their feet, the edges curling up, and the clumps of swamp grass were brown and matted and dead from drought. When the breeze switched fitfully they could smell the swamps still out of view ahead, the odor of mud and rotting vegetation, The mirage shimmered across the plains, so there was no clear horizon; land and sky merged into each other like water. When they looked back the tree line crawled like a long black serpent below the milky sky, undulating and vibrating softly in the mirage, and the dust devils spun upon themselves twisting and swaying like belly dancers.

Out on the plain Sean felt exposed and vulnerable. There was just the scant chance of a Frelimo patrol plane passing this way to search for Renamo bands, and they were as obvious as fleas on a white sheet. He wanted to hurry but glanced back at Riccardo and knew that they would have to rest again soon.

Ahead of Sean, Matatu gave a cry that made his nerves jump. Sean knew what it meant and he ran forward, passing Claudia, and stopped beside Matatu.

"Well, all right!" He clapped Matatu's shoulder and went down on one knee to examine the earth.

"What is it?" Riccardo sounded alarmed, but Sean lifted his head and grinned at him.

"It's him. Tukutela. We've cut his spoor again just where Matatu predicted we would." And he touched the marks of the huge pads whose weight had crushed the brick lets of dried mud to talcum powder. The spoor was so clear that the difference between the bull's rounded front feet and the more oval hind feet was immediately apparent, and the forward edges of each footprint were nicked by his toenails.

"Still heading straight for the swamps." Sean stood and shaded his eyes against the glare as he followed the direction of the spoor.

Not far ahead another line of trees was drawn like a pencil along the horizon where a narrow curved finger of higher ground reached out across the plains.

"In a way we are fortunate," Sean remarked. "A few years ago there were so many herds of buffalo and game on these flats that Tukutela's spoor would have been wiped out in a few hours by their hooves. Now, since the Frelimo government converted them all to army rations, Tukutela is the only living thing for miles around."

"How far behind him are we?"

"We've made up a bit of ground." Sean lowered his hand from his eyes and turned to him. "But not enough, and if the uglies catch us out here in the open.... Luckily Tukutela's spoor is headed straight for the line of trees ahead. They will give us some cover."

He gestured to Matatu to take the spoor once again.

Now the expanse of the wide plain was dimpled with old anthills, mounds of clay thrown up by colonies of termites, some of them the size of a large cottage. Tukutela's spoor meandered between them. However, the line of growth was by now so close that they could make out individual trees. The finger of high ground formed a natural causeway from the edge of the forest across the wide plains to the beginning of the true swamps. There were ivory nut palms, bottle-stemmed palms, and low palms with their fan-shaped leaves, mixed with wild fig. On the highest ridge of the long causeway grew a few massive baobab, with trunks of elephantine gray bark.

With relief Sean followed the spoor of the old bull off the plain and into the trees of the isthmus. Here the elephant had stopped to dig out the juicy roots of an Bala palm and drop a pile of spongy yellow dung.

"The elephant rested here," Matatu explained, lowering his voice to a whisper. "He is an old man now and he tires easily. Here he stood to sleep, see how he shuffled his feet in the dust, and when he awoke he dusted his body. See where he scooped it up with his trunk and threw it over his back."

"How long did he stay here?" Sean asked. Matatu leaned his head to one side as he considered the question.

"He rested here until late yesterday afternoon when the sun was there."

Matatu pointed ten degrees above the western horizon.

"But when he went on he went more slowly. He feels safer now that he is close to the swamps. We have gained on him."

Sean exaggerated Matatu's estimate as he passed it on to Riccardo and Claudia. He wanted to encourage them. "We are making really good gains on him now." He put on a cheerful, confident air. "We might even catch up with him before he gets into the deep swamps, if we don't waste any time."

The spoor headed down the isthmus and the old bull had fed quietly as he moved along it, keeping up on top of the low ridge where the bush was thickest. Directly ahead of them stood another gigantic baobab tree. Its bark was gray and folded and riven as the old bull's hide.

For the moment Sean had left Riccardo's side and moved up to his original position behind Matatu. He wanted to caution the tracker not to set too fast a pace, but before he could speak he heard a strange, guttural cry behind him and he whirled around.

Riccardo's face was swollen and congested with blood. His eyes blazed and seemed to start from their sockets. Sean thought he was suffering from some kind of seizure, but he was pointing ahead, his hand, shaking with violent emotion.

"There he is," he croaked, in a thick unnatural voice. "For God's sake, can't you see him?"

Sean whirled and followed the direction of his outstretched arm.

"What is it, man?"

He was looking ahead, and he did not see Riccardo turn to Pumula and snatch the Rigby rifle off his shoulder, but he heard the metallic clash of the bolt as Riccardo chambered a cartridge.

"Capo, what the hell are you doing?" He reached out to restrain him, but Riccardo shoved him backward. Sean was in unprepared and off balance, and he staggered and almost fell.

Riccardo ran forward to the head of the line, stopped, and threw up the rifle.

"Capo, don't do it." Sean was sprinting to catch him, but the Rigby crashed out and the barrel jumped high, driving Riccardo back a pace with the heavy recoil.

"Have you gone crazy?" Sean could not reach him before he had fired again, and the heavy bullet tore a flurry of white wet bark from the trunk of the baobab. The echoes of the shot rolled across the plains.

"Capo." Sean reached him and seized the rifle, forcing the muzzle up toward the sky just as Riccardo fired the Rigby for the third time.

Sean wrested the weapon out of his grip.

"In the name of all that's holy, man, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

Their eardrums were numbed by the thunder of gunfire, and Sean's outraged voice sounded small and hollow after it.

"Tukutela," Riccardo mouthed. "Don't you see? Why did you stop me?" His face was still flushed and he was shaking like a man with malarial fever. He reached once more for the Rigby in Sean's grasp, but Sean jerked it away from him.

"Pull yourself together!" he shouted, tossing the empty rifle to Job. "Don't let him get it again." He turned back to Riccardo.

"Are you out of your mind? He seized him by the shoulders. "The sound of those shots will carry for miles."

"Leave me!" Riccardo struggled. "Don't you see him?" And Sean shook him viciously.

"Snap out of it, you're shooting at a tree. You've blown your lid!"

"Give me the rifle," Riccardo was pleading. Sean shook him again and roughly turned him to face the baobab.

"Look at it, you bloody madman! There's your elephant!" He shoved him toward it. "Take a good look!"

Claudia ran forward and tried to restrain Sean. "Leave him alone.

Can't you see he's sick?"

"He's gone crazy!" Sean pushed her aside. "He's calling up every Frelimo and Renamo thug within fifty miles, and he's chased any elephant... "

"Leave him," Claudia came back at him. Sean let go of her father and stepped back.

"All right, ducky, he's all yours."

Claudia rushed to her father and embraced him. "It's all right, Papa! It's going to be all right!"

Riccardo was staring uncomprehendingly at the deep raw oozing sap, in the bark of the baobab.

"I thought it was... " He shook his head weakly. "Why did I do that?

I don't... I thought it looked like an elephant."

"Yes, Papa, yes." Claudia was hugging him. "Don't upset yourself."

Job and the rest of the hunting team were quiet and unhappy, watching this strange episode that none of them could fathom.

Sean turned away in disgust. It took him a few seconds to get full control of himself, then he asked Matatu, you think we are close enough for Tukutela to have heard the shooting?"

"The swamps are close, and the sound carries over this flat earth as it does over water." Matatu shrugged. "Perhaps the elephant heard, who knows?"

Sean looked back the way they had come. From the ridge they could see out across the floodplain into the dusty distances.

" Job, what chance that the terrs heard? We'll find out the hard way, Sean. It depends how close behind us they are."

Sean shook himself, trying to rid himself of his anger the way a spaniel shakes off water, "We'll have to rest here. The mambo is sick.

Brew a billy of tea, and we'll decide what to do," he ordered.

He walked back to where Claudia was still holding her father.

She faced Sean defiantly, turning her body to shield Riccardo from him.

"Sorry I Pushed YOU around, Capo," Sean said mildly. "You gave me a hell of a fright."

"I don't understand," Riccardo mumbled. "I could have sworn it was him. I saw him so clearly." We will break for a cup of tea," Sean told him. "I think you've got a touch of the sun. It can turn a man's brain to jelly."

"He'll be fine in a few minutes," Claudia said confidently. Sean nodded coldly at her.

"Let's get him into the shade."

Riccardo leaned back against the hole of the baobab and closed his eyes. He looked pale and bewildered, and sweat droplets sparkled on his chin and upper lip. Claudia knelt beside him and dabbed them away with the corner of her scarf, but when she looked up at Sean he jerked his head in a Peremptory gesture and she stood up and followed him.

"This doesn't come as any surprise to you, does it?" he accused as soon as they were beyond earshot. She did not reply, and he went on, "Just what kind of daughter are you anyway? You knew he was sick and you let him come out on this jaunt."

Her lips were trembling and as he stared into them he saw that her honey-colored eyes were swimming. He had not expected tears from her. They took him by surprise. He felt his fury slipping away and he had to make an effort to bolster it.

"It's too late to start blubbering now, ducky. We've got to find a way to get him home. He's a sick man."

"He's not going home," she murmured, so low he barely caught All the words. Her tears were hanging on thick dark lashes and he stared at her in silence. She swallowed hard and then said, "He's not a sick man, Sean. He's dying. Cancer. It was diagnosed by a specialist before we left home. He predicted that it could attack the brain like this."

Sean's fury crumpled. "No," he said. "Not Capo."

"Why do you think I agreed to let him come and insisted on coming with him? I knew that this was his last hunt-and I wanted to be with him."

They were silent, staring at each other, then she said, "You care.

I can see you truly care for him. I didn't expect that."

"He's my friend," Sean said, puzzled himself by the depth of his own sadness.

"I didn't think you were capable of gentleness," she went on softly. "I may have misjudged you."

"Perhaps we misjudged each other," he said.

She nodded. "Perhaps we did," she said. "But thank you anyway. Thank you for caring about my father."

She began to turn away to go back to Riccardo, but Sean stopped her. "We still haven't settled anything," he said. "We haven't decided what we are going to do."

"We go on, of course," she answered. "Right to the bitter end.

That's what I promised him."

"You've got guts," he told her softly.

"If I have, then I got them from him," she replied, and went to her father.

The mug of tea and a half-dozen aspirin tablets revived Riccardo. He was acting and talking completely rationally again, and none of them made any further reference to his wild behavior, although quite naturally it had thrown a pall over all of them.

"We must move on, Capo," Sean told him. "Tukutela is walking away from us every minute we sit here."

They followed the ridge of high ground, and now the odor of the swamps was stronger, brought to them by the fitful, inconstant wind.

"That's one of the many reasons elephants like the swamps," Sean explained to Riccardo. "The wind is always shifting, turning and switching. It makes it much more difficult to get close to them."

There was a gap in the trees ahead. Sean stopped and they gazed out through it. "There they are," he said. "The Zambezi swamplands.

The ridge on which they stood was like the back of a sea serpent, swimming across the open flood plains Now, just ahead of them, it ducked below the surface and disappeared at the point where the open plains gave way to endless expanses of papyrus and reeds.

Sean raised his binoculars and surveyed the swamps ahead. The reed beds seemed limitless, but he had flown over them and he knew they were interspersed with shallow lagoons of open water and narrow winding channels. Farther out, almost on the horizon, he could see the loom of small islets, dark patches of almost impenetrable bush-crowned islands, and he could just make out the curved palm stems with their high fluffy heads.

The past season had been particularly dry and the water level would be low, in most places not more than waist deep, but the mud banks would be black and glutinous and the channels much deeper. The going would be arduous, and apart from the mud and water, reeds and water plants would impede each step they took, winding themselves around their legs as they tried to move.

For them each mile through the swamps would be the equivalent of five on dry land, while the elephant would be in his element. He loved mud and water. It supported his great bulk, and his foot pads were designed by nature to expand as he put his weight upon them, forcing a wide opening, and then to shrink in diameter as he lifted them, freeing themselves readily from the clinging mud.

Tukutela could gorge on reeds, soft water plants, and swamp grass, and the dense bushy islets would afford variety to his diet.

The suck of mud and the splash of water would warn him of an approaching enemy and the fitfully turning wind would protect him, bringing the scent of a pursuer down to him from every quarter. In all of Tukutela's wide range, this was the most difficult place to hunt him.

It's going to be a Sunday school picnic, Capo." Sean lowered the binoculars. "Those tusks are as good as hanging over the fireplace in your den already."

"the old bull's spoor went out to the very end of the land bridge and then down into the papyrus beds, where the undulating sea of green fronds swallowed the trail and left not a sign.

"Nobody can follow a trail in there." Riccardo stood at the line where dry friable earth ended and damp swamp mud began. "Nobody can find Tukutela in there," he repeated, staring at the wall of swamp growth higher than his head. "Surely they can't?"

"You are right, nobody can find him in there," Sean agreed.

"That is, nobody except Matatu."

% They were standing in the remains of a village that had been built on the end of the isthmus. Clearly the previous occupants had been fishermen, members of one of the small tribes who live along the banks of the Zambezi and make their livelihood from her abundant green waters. The racks on which they had dried their catches of tilapia bream and barbeled catfish still stood, but their huts had been burned to the ground.

Job was searching the outskirts of the village, and he whistled for Sean. When Sean went to join him he was standing over an object that lay in the short grass. At first glance Sean thought it was a bundle of rags, and then he saw the bones protruding from it. They were still partially covered by shreds of dried skin and flesh.

"When?" Sean asked.

"Six months ago, perhaps."

"How did he die?"

Job squatted beside the human skeleton. when he turned the skull, it snapped off the vertebrae of the neck like a ripe fruit. Job cupped it in his hands, and it grinned at him with empty eye sockets.

"Bullet through the back of the head," Job said. "Exit hole this side." It was like a third eye in the bone of the forehead.

Job replaced the skull and walked deeper into the grass. "Here's another," he called.

"Renamo has been through here," Sean gave his opinion. "Either looking for recruits or dried fish or both."

else it was Frelimo looking for Renamo rebels, and they decided to question them with an AK. "They get it from both sides. There "Poor buggers," Sean said.

will be plenty more of them lying around. They are the ones who escaped from the huts before they burned." he They started back toward the village and Sean said, ""If they were fishermen-theY would have had their canoes here. They will probably be hidden, but we could certainly use one. Go through the edge of the papyrus beds and then search the bush behind the village."

Sean crossed to where Riccardo and Claudia were sitting together.

As he came , he looked at her inquiringly and she nodded and smiled optimistically.

"Papa's doing fine. What is this place?"

He explained their reasoning as to the fate of the village.

"Why would they kill these innocent People?" Claudia was appalled.

you don't have to have a reason for killing "In Africa these days somebody other than a loaded gun in your hands and a fancy to fire it off."

"But what harm could they have done?" she insisted.

Sean shrugged. "Harboring rebels, withholding information,

hiding food, refusing the services of their women, any one of those crimes or none of them."

The sun was a red ball through the swamp haze, so low above the tops of the papyrus that Sean could look directly at it without screwing up his eyes.

"It'll be dark before we can leave," he decided. "We'll have to sleep here tonight and start again at first light tomorrow. One consolation is that now Tukutela has reached the swamps, he will slow down. He's probably not more than a couple of miles ahead of us right now." But as he said it he thought about those shots Riccardo had fired. If the bull had heard them, he would still be running. There was, however, no point in telling that to Riccardo.

He looked shaken and despondent, and he had been almost silent since the incident.

"He is just a husk of the Capo I knew, poor old devil. The last thing I can do for him is to get him that elephant." Sean's sympathy was genuine and unaffected and he sat down beside Riccardo and began to draw him out, describing what lay ahead and how they would hunt for the old bull in the papyrus beds.

The hunt was all that now seemed to interest Riccardo, and for the first time that day he became animated Once he even laughed.

Claudia flashed a grateful smile at Sean, then stood up and said, "I've got a little private business to attend to."

"Where are you off to?" Sean demanded immediately"

"The little girls" room," she told him. "And you are definitely not invited."

"Don't go wandering off too far, and no swimming this time," he ordered. "You'll get enough of that tomorrow."

"I hear and obey, O great white Bwana. " She gave him a sarcastic curtsy and set off out of the perimeter of the burned village.

Sean watched her go uneasily and was about to call another warning after her when there was a shout from the papyrus bed and his attention was diverted from Claudia.

He jumped up. "What is it, Job?" he yelled, and went down to the water's edge.

There were more confused shouts and splashing from the depths of the papyrus. Then Job and Matatu emerged, dragging something long and black and waterlogged between them.

"Our first bit of luck." Sean grinned at Riccardo and slapped him on the shoulder.

It was a traditional mokorro dugout canoe, about seventeen feet long, hewn from a single log of the sausage tree, Kigeha africana.

The body of the dugout was just wide enough for a person to sit ISO in it, but it was usually propelled by a man standing in the stem and wielding a long punt pole.

Job tipped the water out of the craft and they examined it carefully. The hull had been repaired and caulked in a few places but seemed reasonably sound. Search the village," Sean ordered. "They must have had caulking material here. See if you can find it, then send Dedan and Pumula to cut a couple of punt poles. Claudia screamed, and they all spun to face the sound. she screamed again. The sound was strangely muffled and far off, and Sean began to run, snatching up his rifle from where he had left it beside the nearest burned-out hut.

"Claudia!" he yelled. "Where are you?" Only his echo mocked him from the forest: "Where are you?... are You?"

nm 9 When Claudia stood up and rebuckled her belt, she found it came in easily a full two notches shorter around her waist. She smiled down at her belly with approval. Now it was no longer flat but definitely concave. The long march and frugal rations had stripped every last ounce of fat from her frame.

"Strange how in an age of plenty we set out to starve ourselves."

She smiled again. "I'm going to enjoy putting on those lost pounds, plenty of pasta and red wine when I get home," She started back toward the village, then realized that in her search for privacy she had gone further than she had intended and that a thicket of wiry thorn brush blocked her way back. She turned aside to circumvent it and came upon a broad pathway running directly down through the bush toward the edge of the swarnd. She followed it thankfully.

Claudia did not realize that she was following a hippo road, one of the wide thoroughfares the great amphibians followed on their nightly forays into the forest. However, the road had not been used for rnny months. The hippopotamus in the area had been decimated along with the other game. She was in a hurry to get back to her father, and she was feeling slightly uneasy at her isolation from the rest of the party. She strode down the pathway, just short of a run.

Ahead of her an old mat of dried papyrus stems was spread across the road from side to side. It had obviously been placed there by the previous occupants of the village, and although it served no purpose that Claudia could imagine, it was no obstacle to her progress and she stepped onto it without slackening her pace.

The Pitfall had been dug for the purpose of trapping a hippopotamus. It was ten feet deep with fannelshoped sides that would tumble one of the huge beasts down into its depth and wedge it securely between the earthen walls. The opening was covered by branches strong enough to carry the weight of a man or a lesser animal, but not that of a hippo. Over these branches the builders had spread the papyrus stems.

However, the pitfall had been built a long time previously and both branches and mat had rotted and weakened. They collapsed under Claudia's weight, and she screamed as she dropped through into the pit beneath, screamed again as she hit the sloping side and bounced off it. The bottom of the pit was covered with a few inches of stagnant water that had seeped into it. Claudia landed awkwardly with one leg twisted up under her and then rolled onto her back in the mud.

The breath had been driven from her lungs and there was a fierce pain in her left knee. For a few minutes she could not respond to the faint shouts she heard from above. She sat up, clutching her injured knee to her chest and gasping wildly to fill her agonized lungs. At last she managed a strangled shout.

"Here! I'm here!"

"Are you all right?" Sean's head appeared above her, peering down anxiously.

"I think so!" she gasped, and tried to stand up, but the pain shot through her knee and she fell back. "My knee," she said.

"Hold on. I'm coming down." Sean's head withdrew. She heard voices, Job and Matatu and her father. Then a coil of nylon rope dropped down toward her, unfurling as it fell. Sean lowered himself swiftly down the rope and dropped the last few feet to land with a splash in the mud beside her.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I guess I've done it again."

"Don't apologize." He grinned. "I'm not conditioned to it. For once it's not your fault. Let's take a look at your leg."

He squatted beside her. "Move your foot. Capital! Can you bend your knee? Splendid! At least no bones broken. That's a relief. Let's get you out of this hole." He tied a loop in the end of the rope, slipped it over her head and shoulders, and settled it under her armpits.

"Okay, Job," he called up. "Take her up. Gently, man, gently."

As soon as they reached ground level, Sean made a more thorough examination of her knee.

He rolled up the leg of her jeans and said, "Shit!"

As a Scout commander he had extensive experience of the type of injury a paratrooper is prone to-broken bones, torn cartilage, sprained ligaments in ankle and knee. Already Claudia's knee was ballooning and the first tinge of bruising colored the smooth tanned skin.

"This might hurt a little," he warned, and manipulated her leg gently.