wooden side of the coach nearest the explosions was splintered and torn
and the roof was covered with earth and pebbles. Hendry was sitting
beside him, shaking his head slowly from side to side; a small trickle
of blood ran down from a scratch on his cheek and dripped from his chin.
In the open trucks the men stood or sat with stunned
expressions on their faces, but the train still raced on towards the
rain storm and the dust of the explosions hung in a dense brown cloud
above the forest far behind them.
Bruce scrambled to his feet, searched frantically for the aircraft and
found its tiny shape far off above the mass of cloud.
The radio was undamaged, protected by the sandbags from the blast.
Bruce reached for it and pressed the transmit button.
"Driver, are you all right?"
"Monsieur, I am greatly perturbed.
"You're not alone," Bruce assured him. "Keep this train going."
"Oui, monsieur." Then he switched to the aircraft's frequency.
Although his ears were singing shrilly from the explosions, he could
hear that the voice of the pilot had changed its tone. There was a
slowness in it, a breathless catch on some of the words. He's frightened
or he's hurt, thought Bruce, but he still has time to make another pass
at us before we reach the storm front.
His mind was clearing fast now, and he became aware of the complete lack
of readiness in his men.
"Ruffy!" he shouted. "Get them on their feet. Get them ready.
That plane will be back any second now." Ruffy jumped down into the
truck and Bruce heard his palm slap against flesh as he began to bully
them into activity. Bruce followed him down, then climbed over into the
second truck and began the same process there.
"Haig, give me a hand, help me get the lead out of them." Further
removed from the shock of the explosion, the men in this truck reacted
readily and crowded to the side, starting to reload, checking their
weapons, swearing, faces losing the dull dazed expressions.
Bruce turned and shouted back, "Ruffy, are any of your lot hurt?"
"Couple of scratches, nothing bad." On the roof of the coach Hendry was
standing again, watching the aircraft, blood on his face and his rifle
in his hands.
"Where's Andre?" Bruce asked Haig as they met in the middle of the
truck.
"Up front. I think he's been hit." Bruce went forward and found
Andre doubled up, crouching in a corner of the truck, his rifle lying
beside him and both hands covering his face. His shoulders heaved as
though he were in pain.
Eyes, thought Bruce, he's been hit in the eyes. He reached him and
stooped over him, pulling his hands from his face, expecting to see
blood.
Andre was crying, his cheeks wet with tears and his eyelashes gummed
together. For a second Bruce stared at him and then he caught the front
of his jacket and pulled him to his feet. He picked up
Andre's rifle and the barrel was cold, not a single shot had been fired
out of it. He dragged the Belgian to the side and thrust the rifle
into his hands.
"I'm going to be standing here beside you." he snarled, If you do that
again I'll shoot you. Do you understand?"
"I'm sorry, Bruce." Andre's lips were swollen where he had bitten them;
his face was smeared with tears and slack with fear. "I'm sorry. I
couldn't help it." Bruce ignored him and turned his attention back to
the aircraft. It was turning in for its next run.
He's going to come from the side again, Bruce thought; this time he'll
get us. He can't miss twice in a row.
In silence once more they watched the jet slide down the valley between
two vast white mountains of cloud and level off above the forest. Small
and dainty and deadly it raced in towards them.
One of the Bren guns opened up, rattling raucously, sending out tracers
like bright beads on a string.
"Too soon," muttered Bruce. "Much too soon; he must be all of a mile out
of range." But the effect was instantaneous. The jet swerved, almost hit
the tree tops and then over-corrected, losing its line of approach.
A howl of derision went up from the train and was immediately lost in
the roar as every gun opened fire. The jet loosed its remaining rockets,
blindly, hopelessly, without a chance of a hit. Then it climbed steeply,
turning away into the cloud ahead of them. The sound of its engines
receded, was muted by the cloud and then was gone.
Ruffy was performing a dance of triumph, waving his rifle over his head.
Hendry on the roof was shouting abuse at the clouds into which the jet
had vanished, one of the Brens was still firing short ecstatic bursts,
someone else was chanting the Katangese war cry and others were taking
it up. And then the driver in the locomotive came in with his whistle,
spurting steam with each shriek.
Bruce stung his rifle over his shoulder, pushed his helmet on to the
back of his head, took out a cigarette and lit it, then stood watching
them sing and laugh and chatter with the relief from danger.
Next to him Andre leaned out and vomited over the side; a little of it
came out of his nose and dribbled down the front of his battle-jacket.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm sorry, truly I'm sorry," he whispered.
And they were under the cloud, its coolness slumped over them like air
from an open refrigerator. The first heavy drops stung Bruce's cheek and
then rolled down heavily washing away the smell of cordite, melting the
dust from Ruffy's face until it shone again like washed coal.
Bruce felt his jacket cling wetly to his back.
"Ruffy, two men at each Bren. The rest of them can get back into the
covered coaches. We'll relieve every hour." He reversed his rifle so the
muzzle pointed downwards. "De Surrier, you can go, and you as well,
Hendry."
"I'll stay with you, Bruce."
"All right then." The gendarmes clambered back into the covered coaches
still laughing and chattering, and Ruffy came forward with a ground
sheet and handed it to
Bruce.
"The radios are all covered. If you don't need me, boss, I got some
business with one of those Arabs in the coach.
He's got near twenty thousand francs on him; so I'd better go and give
him a couple of tricks with the cards."
"One of these days I'm going to explain your Christian monarchs to the
boys. Show them that the odds are three to one against them," Bruce
threatened.
"I wouldn't do that, boss," Ruffy advised seriously. "All that money
isn't good for them, just gets them into trouble."
"Off you go then. I'll call you later," said Bruce. "Tell them I said
"well done
I'm proud of them." "Yeah. I'll tell them," promised Ruffy.
Bruce lifted the tarpaulin that covered the set.
"Driver, desist before you burst the boiler!" The abandoned flight of
the train steadied to a more sedate pace, and Bruce tilted his helmet
over his eyes and pulled the ground sheet up around his mouth before he
leaned out over the side of the truck to inspect the rocket damage.
"All the windows blown out on this side and the woodwork torn a
little, he muttered. "But a lucky escape all the same."
"What a miserable comic-opera war this is," grunted Mike Haig. "That
pilot had the right idea: why risk your life when it's none of your
business."
"He was wounded," Bruce guessed. "I think we hit him on his first run."
Then they were silent, with the rain driving into their faces, slitting
their eyes to peer ahead along the tracks. The men at the Brens huddled
into their brown and green camouflage groundsheets, all their jubilation
of ten minutes earlier completely gone. They are like cats, thought
Bruce as he noticed their dejection, they can't stand being wet.
"It's half past five already." Mike spoke at last. "Do you think we'll
make Msapa junction before nightfall?"
"With this weather it will be dark by six." Bruce looked up at the low
cloud that was prematurely bringing on the night. "I'm not going to risk
travelling in the dark.
This is the edge of Baluba country and we can't use the headlights
oftheloco."
"You going to stop then?" Bruce nodded. What a stupid bloody question,
he thought irritably. Then he recognized his irritation as reaction from
the danger they had just experienced, and he spoke to make amends.
"We can't be far now - if we start again at first light we'll reach
Msapa before sun-up."
"My God, it's cold," complained Mike and he shivered briefly.
"Either too hot or too cold," Bruce agreed; he knew that it was also
reaction that was making him garrulous. But he did not attempt to stop
himself. "That's one of the things about this happy little planet of
ours: nothing is in moderation. Too hot or too cold, either you are
hungry or you've overeaten, you are in love or you hate the world-"
"Like you?" asked Mike.
"Dammit, Mike, you're as bad as a woman. Can't you conduct an objective
discussion without introducing personalities?" Bruce demanded. He could
feel his temper rising to the surface, he was cold and edgy, and he
wanted a smoke.
"Objective theories must have subjective application to prove
their worth," Mike pointed out. There was just a trace of an amused
smile on his broad ravaged old face.
"Let's forget it then. I don't want to talk personalities," snapped
Bruce; then immediately went on to do so.
"Humanity sickens me if I think about it too much. De Surrier puking his
heart out with fear, that animal Hendry, you trying to keep off the
liquor, Joan-" He stopped himself abruptly.
"Who is Joan?"
"Do I ask you your business?" Bruce flashed the standard reply to all
personal questions in the mercenary army of
Katanga.
"No. But I'm asking you yours - who is Joan?" All right. I'll tell him.
If he wants to know, I'll tell him.
Anger had made Bruce reckless.
"Joan was the bitch I married."
"So, that's it then!"
"Yes -
that's it! Now you know. So you can leave me alone."
"Kids?"
"Two - a boy and a girl." The anger was gone from Bruce's voice, and the
raw naked pain was back for an instant. Then he rallied and his voice
was neutral once more.
"And none of it matters a damn. As far as I'm concerned the whole human
race - all of it - can go and lose itself. I don't want any part of it."
"How old are you, Bruce?"
"Leave me alone, damn you!"
"How old are you?"
"I'm thirty."
"You talk like a teenager."
"And I feel like an
old, old man." The amusement was no longer on Mike's face as he asked.
"What did you do before this?"
"I slept and breathed and ate - and got trodden on."
"What did you do for a living?"
"Lawyer."
"Were you successful?"
"How do you measure success? If you mean, did I make money, the answer
is yes." I made enough to pay off the house and the car, he thought
bitterly, and to contest custody of my children, and finally to meet the
divorce settlement. I had enough for that, but, of course, I had to sell
my partnership.
"Then you'll be all right," Mike told him. "If you've succeeded once
you'll be able to do it again when you've recovered from the shock; when
you've rearranged your life and taken other people into it
to make you strong again."
"I'm strong now, Haig. I'm strong because there is no one in my life.
That's the only way you can be secure, on your own. Completely free and
on your own."
"Strong!" Anger flared in
Mike's voice for the first time.
"On your own you're nothing, Curry. On your own you're so weak I
could piss on you and wash you away!" Then the anger evaporated and
Mike went on softly, "But you'll find out - you're one of the lucky
ones. You attract people to you. You don't have to be alone."
"Well, that's the way I'm going to be from now on."
"We'll see," murmured Mike.
"Yes, we'll see," Bruce agreed, and lifted the tarpaulin over the radio.
Driver, we are going to halt for the night. It's too dark to proceed
with safety." Brazzaville Radio came through weakly on the set and the
static was bad, for outside the rain still fell and thunder rolled
around the sky like an unsecured cargo at sea.
Our Elisabethville correspondent reports that elements of the
Kantangese Army in the South Kasai province today violated the ceasefire
agreement by firing upon a low-flying aircraft of the United
Nations command. The aircraft, a Vampire jet fighter of the Indian Air
Force, returned safely to its base at Kamina airfield. The pilot,
however, was wounded by small arms fire. His condition is satisfactory.
"The United Nations Commander in Katanga, General Rhee, has lodged a
strong protest with the Kantange se government-" The announcer's voice
was overlaid by the electric crackle of static.
we winged him!" rejoiced Wally Hendry. The scab on his cheek had dried
black, with angry red edges.
"Shut up," snapped Bruce, "we're trying to hear what's happening."
"You can't hear a bloody thing now. Andre, there's a bottle in my pack.
Get it! I'm going to drink to that coolie with a bullet up his-" Then
the radio cleared and the announcer's voice came through loudly.
at Senwati Mission fifty miles from the river harbour of Port
Reprieve. A spokesman for the Central Congolese Government denied that
the Congolese troops were operating in this area, and it is feared that
a large body of armed bandits is taking advantage of the unsettled
conditions to-" Again the static drowned it out.
"Damn this set muttered Bruce as he tried to tune it.
stated today that the removal of missile equipment from the
Russian bases in Cuba had been confirmed by aerial reconnaissance-"
"That's all that we are interested in." Bruce switched off the radio.
"What a shambles! Ruffy, where is Senwati Mission?"
"Top end of the swamp, near the Rhodesian border."
"Fifty miles from Port Reprieve," muttered Bruce, not attempting to
conceal his anxiety.
"It's more than that by road, boss, more like a hundred."
"That should take them three or four days in this weather, with time off
for looting along the way," Bruce calculated.