Текст книги "The Dark of the Sun"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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"Are you hungry!"

"Breakfast was a century ago." "Good," she said, lowered the collapsible

table and began . ng the food.

"Smells good." sir! "I am a chef Cordon Bleu. My bully beef goulash is

demanded by the crowned heads of Europe." They ate in silence for both

of them were hungry. Once they looked at each other and smiled but

returned to the food.

"That was good," sighed Bruce at last.

"Coffee, Bruce?"

"Please." As she poured it she asked, "So, what happens now?"

"Do you mean what happens now we are alone?"

"You are forward, monsieur. I meant how do we get out of here?"

"I am adopting your suggestion: borrowing General Moses's

transportation."

"You make jokes, Bruce!"

"No" he said, and explained briefly.

"It will be very dangerous, will it not? You may be hurt?"

"Only the good die young."

"That is why I worry. Please do not get hurt – I

am starting to think I would not like that." Her face was very serious

and pale. Bruce crossed quickly and stooped over her, lifting her to her

feet.

"Shermaine, I-"

"No, Bruce. Don't talk. Don't say anything." Her eyes were closed with

thick black lashes interlaced, her chin lifted exposing the long smooth

swell of her neck. He touched it with his lips and she made a soft noise

in her throat so he could feel the skin vibrate. Her body flattened

against his and her fingers closed in the hair at the back of his head.

"Oh, Bruce. My Bruce, please do not get hurt. Do not let them hurt you."

Wanting now, urgently, his mouth hunted upwards and hers came to meet

it, willing prey. Her lips were pink and not greased with make-up, they

parted to the pressure of his tongue, he felt the tip of her nose cool

upon his cheek and his hand moved up her back and closed round the nape

of her neck, slender neck with silky down behind her

ears.

"Oh, Bruce-" she said into his mouth. His other hand went down on to the

proud, round, deeply divided thrust of her buttocks, he pulled her lower

body against his and she gasped as she felt him – the arrogant maleness

through cloth.

"No," she gasped and tried to pull away, but he held her until she

relaxed against him once more. She shook her head, "Non, non," but her

mouth was open still and her tongue fluttered against his. Down came his

hand from her neck and twitched her shirt tails loose from under her

belt, then up again along her back, touching the deep lateral depression

of her spine so that she shuddered, clinging to him.

Stroking velvet skin stretched tight over rubber-hard flesh, finding the

outline of her shoulder blades, tracing them upwards then back to the

armpits, silky-haired armpits that maddened him with excitement, quickly

past them to her breasts, small breasts with soft tips hardening to his

touch.

Now she struggled in earnest, her fists beating on his shoulders and her

mouth breaking from his, and he stopped himself, dropped the hand away

to encircle her waist.

Holding her loosely within his arms.

"That was not good, Bruce. You get naughty very quick." Her cheeks

flamed with colour and her blue eyes had darkened to royal, her lips

still wet from his, and her voice was unsteady, as unsteady as his when

he answered.

"I'm sorry, Shermaine. I don't know what happened then, I did not mean

to frighten you."

"You are very strong, Bruce. But you do not frighten me, only a little

bit. Your eyes frighten me when they look at me but do not see." You

really made a hash of that one, he rebuked himself.

Bruce Curry, the gentle sophisticated lover. Bruce Curry, the

heavyweight, catch-as-catch-can, two-fisted rape artist.

He felt shaky, his legs wobbly, and there was something . usly wrong

with his breathing.

seno

"You do not wear a brassieres" he said without thinking, and immediately

regretted it, but she chuckled, soft and husky.

"Do you think I need to, Bruce?"

"No, I didn't mean that," he protested quickly, remembering the saucy

tilt of that small breast. He was silent then, marshalling his words,

trying to control his breathing, fighting down the madness of desire.

She studied his eyes. "You can see again now – perhaps I will let you

kiss me."

"Please," he said and she came back to him.

Gently now, Bruce me boy.

The door of the compartment flew back with a crash and they jumped

apart. Wally Hendry stood on the threshold.

"Well, well, well." His shrewd little eyes took it all in.

That's nice!" Shermaine was hurriedly tucking in her shirt tail and

trying to smooth her hair at the same time.

Wally grinned. "Nothing like it after a meal, I always say.

Gets the digestion going."

"What do you want?" snapped Bruce.

"There's no doubt what you want, said Wally. "Looks like you're getting

it too." He let his eyes travel up from Shermaine's waist, slowly over

her body to her face.

Bruce stepped out into the corridor, pushing Hendry back and slammed the

door.

"What do you want?" he repeated.

"Ruffy wants you to check his arrangements, but I'll tell him you're

busy. We can put the attack off until tomorrow night if you like." Bruce

scowled at him. "Tell him I'll be with him in two minutes." Wally leaned

against the door. "Okay, I'll tell him."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing, just nothing," grinned Wally.

"Well, bugger off then," snarled Bruce.

"Okay, Okay, don't get your knickers in a knot, Bucko." He sauntered off

down the corridor.

Shermaine was standing where Bruce had left her, but with her eyes

bright with tears of anger.

"He is a pig, that one. A filthy, filthy pig."

"He's not worth worrying about." Bruce tried to take her in his arms

again, but she shrugged him off.

"I hate him. He makes everything seem so cheap, so dirty."

"Nothing between you and I could be cheap and dirty," said Bruce, and

instantly her fury abated.

"I know, my Bruce. But he can make it seem that way." They kissed

gently.

"I must go. They want me." For a second she clung to him.

"Be careful. Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," said

Bruce and she let him go.

They left before dark, but the clouds had come up during the afternoon

and now they hung low over the forest, trapping the heat beneath them.

Bruce led, with Ruffy in the middle of the line and Hendry in the rear.

By the time they reached the level crossing the night was on them and it

had started to rain, soft fat drops weeping like a woman exhausted with

grief, warm rain in the darkness. And the darkness was complete. Once

Bruce touched the top of his nose with his open palm, but he could not

see his hand.

He used a staff to keep contact with the steel rail that ran beside him,

tapping along it like a blind man, and at each step the

gravel of the embankment crunched beneath his feet. The hand of the man

behind him was on his shoulder, and he could sense the presence of the

others that followed him like the body of a serpent, could hear the

crunch of their steps and the muted squeak and rattle of their

equipment. A man's voice was raised in protest and immediately quenched

by Ruffy's deep rumble.

They crossed the road and the gradient changed beneath Bruce's feet so

that he had to lean forward against it. They were starting up the Lufira

hills.

I will rest them at the top, he thought, and from there we will be able

to see the lights of the town.

The rain stopped abruptly, and the quietness after it was surprising.

Now he could distinctly hear the breathing of the man behind him above

the small sounds of their advance, and in the forest nearby a tree frog

clinked as though steel pellets were being dropped into a crystal glass.

It was a sound of great purity and beauty.

All Bruce's senses were enhanced to compensate for his lack of sight;

his hearing; his sense of smell, so that he could catch the over-sweet

perfume of a jungle-flower and the heaviness of decaying wet vegetation;

his sense of touch, so that he could feel the raindrops on his face and

the texture of his clothing against his body; then the other animal

sense of danger told him with sickening, stomach-tripping certainty that

there was something ahead of him in the darkness.

He stopped, and the man following him bumped into him throwing him off

balance. All along the line there was a ripple of confusion and then

silence. They all waited.

Bruce strained his hearing, half crouched with his rifle held ready.

There was something there, he could almost feel it.

Please God, let them not have a machine-gun set up here, he thought;

they could cut us into a shambles.

He turned cautiously and felt for the head of the man behind him, found

it and drew it towards him until his mouth was an inch from the ear.

"Lie down very quietly. Tell the one behind you that he may pass it

back." Bruce waited poised, listening and trying to see ahead into the

utter blackness. He felt a gentle tap on his ankle from the gendarme at

his feet. They were all down.

"All right, let's go take a look." Bruce detached one of the grenades

from his webbing belt. He drew the pin and dropped it into the breast

pocket of his jacket. Then feeling for the crossties of the rails with

each foot he started forward. Ten paces and he stopped again. Then he

heard it, the tiny click of two pebbles just ahead of him. His throat

closed so he could not breathe and his stomach was very heavy.

I'm right on top of them. My God, if they open up now, inch by inch he

drew back the hand that held the grenade.

I'll have to lob short and get down fast. Five-second fuse too long,

they'll hear it and start shooting.

His hand was right back, he bent his legs and sank slowly on to his

knees.

Here we go, he thought, and at that instant sheet lightning fluttered

across the sky and Bruce could see. The hills were outlined black below

the pale grey belly of the clouds, and the steel rails

glinted in the sudden light.

The forest was dark and high at each hand, and – a leopard, a big golden

and black leopard, stood facing Bruce. In that brief second they stared

at each other and then the night closed down again.

The leopard coughed explosively in the darkness, and Bruce tried

desperately to bring his rifle up, but it was in his left hand and his

other arm was held back ready to throw.

This time for sure, he thought, this time they lower the boom on you.

It was with a feeling of disbelief that he heard the leopard crash

sideways into the undergrowth, and the scrambling rush of its run

dwindle into the bush.

He subsided on to his backside, with the primed grenade in his hand, the

hysterical laughter of relief coming up into his throat.

"You okay, boss?" Ruffy's voice lifted anxiously.

"It was a leopard," answered Bruce, and was surprised at the squeakiness

of his own voice.

There was a buzz of voices from the gendarmes and a rattle and clatter

as they started to stand up. Someone laughed.

"That's enough noise," snapped Bruce and climbed to his feet; he found

the pin in his pocket and fitted it back into the grenade. He groped his

way back, picked up the staff from where he had dropped it, and took his

position at the head of the column again.

"Let's go," he said.

His mouth was dry, his breathing too quick and he could feel the heat

beneath the skin of his cheeks from the shock of the leopard.

I truly squirted myself full of adrenalin that time, Bruce grinned

precariously in the dark, I'm as windy as hell. And before tonight is

over I shall find fear again.

They moved on up the incline of the hills, a serpent of twenty-six men,

and the tension was in all of them. Bruce could hear it in the footsteps

behind him, feel it in the grip of the hand upon his shoulder and catch

it in the occasional whiffs of body smell that came forward to him, the

smell of nervous sweat like acid on metal.

Ahead of them the clouds that had crouched low upon the hills lifted

slowly, and Bruce could see the silhouette of the crests. It was no

longer utterly dark for there was a glow on the belly of the clouds now.

A faint orange glow of reflected light that grew in

strength, then faded and grew again. It puzzled Bruce for a while, and

thinking about it gave his nerves a chance to settle. He plodded

steadily on watching the fluctuations of the light. The ground tilted

more sharply upwards beneath his feet and he leaned forward against it,

slogging up the last half mile to the pass between the peaks, and at

last came out on the top.

"Good God, Bruce spoke aloud, for from here he could see the reason for

that glow on the clouds. They were burning Port Reprieve.

The flames were well established in the buildings along the wharf, and

as Bruce watched one of the roofs collapsed slowly in upon itself in a

storm of sparks leaving the walls naked and erect, the wooden sills of

the windows burning fiercely. The railway buildings were also on fire,

and there was fire in the residential area beyond the Union

Mini&e offices and the hotel. Quickly Bruce looked towards St.

Augustine's. It was dark, no flames there, no light even, and he felt a

small lift of relief.

"Perhaps they have overlooked it, perhaps they're too busy looting," and

as he looked back at Port Reprieve, his mouth hardened.

"The senseless wanton bastards!" His anger started as he watched the

meaningless destruction of the town.

"What can they possibly hope to gain by this?" There were new fires

nearer the hotel. Bruce turned to the man behind him.

"We will rest here, but there will be no smoking and no talking."

He heard the order passed back along the line and the careful sounds of

equipment being lowered and men settling gratefully down upon the gravel

embankment. Bruce unslung the case that contained his binoculars. He

focused them on the burning town.

It was bright with the light of fires and through the glasses he could

almost discern the features of the men in the streets. They moved in

packs, heavily armed and restless. Many carried bottles and already the

gait of some of them was unsteady. Bruce tried to estimate their numbers

but it was impossible, men kept disappearing into buildings and

reappearing, groups met and mingled and dispersed.

He dropped his glasses on to his chest to rest his eyes, and heard

movement beside him in the dark. He glanced sideways. It was Ruffy, his

bulk exaggerated by the load he carried; his rifle across one shoulder,

on the other a full case of ammunition, and round his neck half a dozen

haversacks full of grenades.

"Looks like they're having fun, hey, boss?"

"Fifth of November," agreed Bruce. "Aren't you going to take a

breather?"

"Why not?" Ruffy set down the ammunition case and lowered his great

backside on to it.

"Can you see any of those folks we left behind?" he asked.

Bruce lifted the glasses again and searched the area beyond the station

buildings. It was darker there but he made out the square shape of the

truck standing among the moving shadows.

"The truck's still there," he murmured," but I can't see At that moment

the thatched roof of one of the houses exploded upwards in a column of

flame, lighting the railway yard, and the truck stood out sharply.

"Yes," said Bruce, "I can see them now." They were littered untidily

across the yard, still lying where they had died.

Small and fragile, unwanted as broken toys.

"Dead?" asked Ruffy.

"Dead," confirmed Bruce.

"The women?"

"It's hard to tell." Bruce strained his eyes. "I

don't think SO.

"No." Ruffy's voice was soft and very deep. "They wouldn't waste the

women. I'd guess they've got them up at the hotel, taking it in turn to

give them the business. Four women only – they won't last till morning.

Those bastards down there could shag an elephant to death." He spat

thoughtfully into the gravel at his feet. "What you going to do, boss?"

Bruce did not answer for a minute; he swung the glasses slowly back

across the town. The field gun was still standing where he had last seen

it, its barrel pointing accusingly up towards him. The transports were

parked before the Union Mini6re offices; he could see the brilliant

yellow and red paint and the Shell sign on the tanker. I

hope it's full, Bruce thought, we'll need plenty of gasoline to get us

back to Elisabethville.

"Ruffy, you'd better tell your boys to keep their bullets away from that

tanker, otherwise it'll be a long walk home."

"I'll tell them," grunted Ruffy. "But you know these mad Arabs – once

they start shooting they don't stop till they're out of bullets, and

they not too fussy where those bullets go. "We'll split into two groups

when we get

to the bottom of the hill. You and I will take our lot through the edge

of the swamp and cross to the far side of the town. Tell

Lieutenant Hendry to come here." Bruce waited until Wally came forward

to join them, and when the three of them crouched together he went on.

"Hendry, I want you to spread your men out at the top of the main street

– there in the darkness on this side of the station. Ruffy and

I are going to cross the edge of the swamp to the causeway and lay out

on the far side. For God's sake keep your boys quiet until Ruffy and I

hit them – all we need is for your lot to start pooping off before we

are ready and we won't need those lorries, we'll need coffins for the

rest of out journey. Do you understand me?"

"Okay, okay, I know what

I'm doing," muttered Wally.

I hope So," said Bruce, and then went on. "We'll hit them at four

o'clock tomorrow morning, just before first light. Ruffy and I will go

into the town and bomb the hotel – that's where most of them will be

sleeping. The grenades should force the survivors into the street and as

soon as that happens you can open up – but not before. Wait until you

get them in the open. Is that clear?"

"Jesus," growled Hendry.

"Do you think I'm a bloody fool, do you think I can't understand

English?"

"The crossfire from the two groups should wipe most of them out." Bruce

ignored Wally's outburst. "But we mustn't give the remainder a chance to

organize. Hit them hard and as soon as they take cover again you must

follow them in close with them and finish them off. If we can't get it

over in five to ten minutes then we are going to be in trouble.

They outnumber us three to one, so we have to exploit the element of

surprise to the full."

"Exploit the element of surprise to the full!" mimicked Wally. "What for

all the fancy talk – why not just

murder the bastards?" Bruce grinned lightly in the dark. "All right,

murder the bastards," he agreed. "But do it as quickly as bloody

possible." He stood up and inclined the luminous dial of his wristwatch

to catch the light. "It's half past ten now – we'll move down on them.

Come with me, Hendry, and we'll sort them into two groups." Bruce and

Wally moved back along the line and talked to each man in turn.

"You will go with Lieutenant Hendry."

"You come with me." Making sure that the two English-speaking corporals

were with Wally, they took

ten minutes to divide them into two units and to redistribute the

haversacks of grenades.

Then they moved on down the slope, still in Indian file.

"This is where we leave you, Hendry," whispered Bruce.

"Don't go jumping the gun – wait until you hear my grenades."

"Yeah, okay – I know all about it." "Good luck," said Bruce.

"Your bum in a barrel, Captain Curry," rejoined Wally and moved away.

"Come on, Ruffy." Bruce led his men off the embankment down into the

swamp. Almost immediately the mud and slime was knee-deep and as they

worked their way out to the right it rose to their waists and then to

their armpits, sucking and gurgling sullenly as they stirred it with

their passage, belching little evil-smelling gusts of swamp gas.

The mosquitoes closed round Bruce's face in a cloud so dense that he

breathed them into his mouth and had to blink them out of his eyes.

Sweat dribbled down from under his helmet and clung heavily in his

eyebrows and the matted stems of the papyrus grass dragged at his feet.

Their progress was tortuously slow and for fifteen minutes at a time

Bruce lost sight of the lights of the village through the wall of

papyrus; he steered by the glow of the fires and the occasional column

of sparks.

It was an hour before they had half completed their circuit of

Port Reprieve. Bruce stopped to rest, still waistdeep in swamp ooze and

with his arms aching numb from holding his rifle above his head.

"I could use a smoke now, boss," grunted Ruffy.

Me too," answered Bruce, and he wiped his face on the sleeve of his

jacket. The mosquito bites on his forehead and round his eyes burnt like

fire.

What a way to make a living," he whispered.

"You go on living and you'll be one of the lucky ones," answered

Ruffy. "My guess is there'll be some dying before tomorrow." But the

fear of death was submerged by physical discomfort. Bruce had almost

forgotten that they were going into battle; right now he was more

worried that the leeches which had worked their way through the openings

in his anklets and were busily boring into his lower legs

might find their way up to his crotch. There was a lot to be said in

favour of a zip fly, he decided.

"Let's get out of this," he whispered. "Come on, Ruffy.

Tell your boys to keep it quiet." He worked in closer to the shore and

the level fell to their knees once more. Progress was more noisy now as

their legs broke the surface with each step and the papyrus rustled and

brushed against them.

It was almost two o "clock when they reached the causeway. Bruce left

his men crouched in the papyrus while he made a stealthy reconnaissance

along the side of the concrete bridge, keeping in its shadow, moving

doubled up until he came to dry land on the edge of the village. There

were no sentries posted and except for the crackle of

the flames the town was quiet, sunk into a drunken stupor, satiated.

Bruce went back to call his men up.

He spread them in pairs along the outskirts of the village.

He had learned very early in this campaign not to let his men act

singly; nothing drains an African of courage more than to be on his own,

especially in the night when the ghosts are on the walk-about.

To each couple he gave minute instructions.

"When you hear the grenades you shoot at anybody in the streets or at

the windows. When the street is empty move in close beside that building

there. Use your own grenades on every house and watch out for Lieutenant

Hendry's men coming through from the other side. Do you understand?"

"It is understood."

"Shoot carefully. Aim each shot – not like you did at the road bridge,

and in the name of God do not hit the gasoline tanker. We need that to

get us home." Now it was three o'clock, Bruce saw by the luminous

figures on his wristwatch.

Eight hours since they had left the train, and twenty-two hours since

Bruce had last slept.

But he was not tired, although his body ached and there was that gritty

feeling under his eyelids, yet his mind was clear and bright as a flame.

He lay beside Ruffy under a low bush on the outskirts of Port

Reprieve and the night wind drifted the smoke from the burning town down

upon them, and Bruce was not tired. For I am going to another rendezvous

with fear.

Fear is a woman, he thought, with all the myriad faces and voices of a

woman. Because she is a woman and because I am a man I must keep going

back to her. Only this time the appointment is one that I cannot avoid,

this time I am not deliberately seeking her out.

I know she is evil, I know that after I have possessed her I will feel

sick and shaken. I will say, "That was the last time, never again." But

just as certainly I know I will go back to her again, hating her,

dreading her, but also needing her.

I have gone to find her on a mountain – on Dutoits Kloof Frontal, on

Turret Towers, on the Wailing Wall, and the Devil's Tooth.

And she was there, dressed in a flowing robe of rock, a robe that fell

sheer two thousand feet to the scree slope below. And she shrieked with

the voice of the wind along the exposed face. Then her voice was soft,

tinkling like Aft

*ad cooling glass in the Berg ice underfoot, whispering like nylon rope

running free, grating as the rotten rock moved in my hand.

I have followed her into the Jessie bush on the banks of the Sabi and

the Luangwa, and she was there, waiting, wounded, in a robe of buffalo

hide with the blood dripping from her mouth. And her smell was the

sour-acid smell of my own sweat, and her taste was like rotten tomatoes

in the back of my throat.

I have looked for her beyond the reef in the deep water with the demand

valve of a scuba repeating my breathing with metallic hoarseness. And

she was there with rows of white teeth in the semicircle of her mouth, a

tall fin on her back, dressed this time in shagreen, and her touch was

cold as the ocean, and her taste was salt and the taint of dying things.

I have looked for her on the highway with my foot pressed to the

floorboards and she was there with her cold arm draped round my

shoulders, her voice the whine of rubber on tarmac and the throaty hum

of the motor.

With Colin Butler at the helm (a man who treated fear not as a lover,

but with tolerant contempt as though she were his little sister)

I went to find her in a small boat. She was dressed in green with plumes

of spray and she wore a necklace of sharp black rock. And her voice was

the roar of water breaking on water.

We met in darkness at the road bridge and her eyes glinted like

bayonets. But that was an enforced meeting not of my choosing, as

tonight will be.

I hate her, he thought, but she is a woman and I am a man.

Bruce lifted his arm and turned his wrist to catch the light of the

fires.

"Fifteen minutes to four, Ruffy. Let's go and take a look."

"That's a good idea, boss." Ruffy grinned with a show of white teeth in

the darkness.

Are you afraid, Ruffy?" he asked suddenly, wanting to know, for his own

heart beat like a war drum and there was no saliva in his mouth.

"Boss, some questions you don't ask a man." Ruffy rose slowly into a

crouch. "Let's go take a look around." So they moved quickly together

into the town, along the street, hugging the hedges and the buildings,

trying to keep in shadow, their eyes moving everywhere, breathing quick

and shallow, nerves screwed up tight until they reached the hotel.

There were no lights in the windows and it seemed deserted until

Bruce made out the untidy mass of humanity strewn in sleep upon the

front verandah.

"How many there, Ruffy?"

"Dunno – perhaps ten, fifteen." Ruffy breathed an answer.

"Rest of them will be inside."

"Where are the women – be careful of them."

"They're dead long ago, you can believe me."

"All right then, let's get round the back." Bruce took a deep breath and

then moved quickly across the twenty yards of open firelit street to the

corner of the hotel. He stopped in the shadow and felt Ruffy close

beside him.

"I want to take a look into the main lounge, my guess is that most of

them will be in there," he whispered.

"There's only four bedrooms," agreed Ruffy. "Say the officers upstairs

and the rest in the lounge." Now Bruce moved quickly round the corner

and stumbled over something soft. He felt it move against his foot.

"Ruffy!" he whispered urgently as he teetered off balance.

He had trodden on a man, a man sleeping in the dust beside the wall. He

could see the firelight on his bare torso and the glint of the bottle

clutched in one outflung hand. The man sat up, muttering, and then began

to cough, hacking painfully, swearing as he wiped his mouth with his

free hand. Bruce regained his balance and swung his rifle up to use the

bayonet, but Ruffy was quicker. He put one foot on the man's chest and

trod him flat on to his back once more, then standing over him he used

his bayoneted rifle the way a gardener uses a spade to lift potatoes,

leaning his weight on it suddenly and the blade

vanished into the man's throat.

The body stiffened convulsively, legs thrust out straight and arms

rigid, there was a puffing of breath from the severed windpipe and then

the slow melting relaxation of death. Still with his foot on the chest,

Ruffy withdrew the" bayonet and stepped over the corpse.

That was very close, thought Bruce, stifling the qualm of horror

he felt at the execution. The man's eyes were fixed open in almost comic

surprise, the bottle still in his hand, his chest bare, the front of his

trousers unbuttoned and stiff with dried blood – not his blood, guessed

Bruce angrily.

They moved on past the kitchens. Bruce looked in and saw that they were

empty with the white enamel tiles reflecting the vague light

and piles of used plates and pots cluttering the tables and the sink.

Then they reached the bar-room and there was a hurricane lamp on the

counter diffusing a yellow glow; the stench of liquor poured out through

the half-open window, the shelves were bare of bottles and men were

asleep upon the counter, men lay curled together upon the floor like a

pack of dogs, broken glass and rifles and shattered furniture littered

about them.

Someone had vomited out of the window leaving a yellow streak down the

whitewashed wall.

"Stand here," breathed Bruce into Ruffy's ear. "I will go round to the

front where I can throw on to the verandah and also into the lounge.

Wait until you hear my first grenade blow." Ruffy nodded and leaned his

rifle against the wall; he took a grenade in each fist and

pulled the pins.

Bruce slipped quickly round the corner and along the side wall. He

reached the windows of the lounge. They were tightly closed and he

peered in over the sill. A little of the light from the lamp in the

bar-room came through the open doors and showed up the interior. Here

again there were men covering the floor and piled upon the sofas along

the far wall. Twenty of them at least, he estimated by the volume of

their snoring, and he grinned without humour.

My God, what a shambles it is going to be.

Then something at the foot of the stairs caught his eye and the grin on

his face became fixed, baring his teeth and narrowing his eyes to slits.

It was the mound of nude flesh formed by the bodies of the four women;

they had been discarded once they had served their purpose, dragged to

)the side to clear the floor for sleeping space, lying upon

"each other in a jumble of naked arms and legs and cascading hair.