The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur (книги полные версии бесплатно без регистрации txt) 📗
brief meeting they diverged and the road twisted away to the left. The
river was padded on each bank by dense dark green bush; three hundred
yards thick, a matted tangle of Thorn and tree fern with the big trees
growing up through" it and bursting into flower as they reached the
sunlight.
"Good place for an ambush," muttered Mike Haig, eyeing the solid green
walls of vegetation on each side of the lines.
"Charming, isn't it," agreed Bruce, and by the uneasy air of alertness
that had settled on his gendarmes it was clear that they agreed with
him.
The train nosed its way carefully into the river bush like a steel snake
along a rabbit run, and they came to the river.
Bruce switched on the set.
"Driver, stop this side of the bridge. I wish to inspect it before
entrusting our precious cargo to it."
"Oui, monsieur." The Cheke river at this point was fifty yards wide,
deep, quick-flowing and angry with flood water which had almost covered
the white sand beaches along
each bank. Its bottle-green colour was smoked with mud and there were
whirlpools round the stone columns of the bridge.
"Looks all right," Haig gave his opinion. "How far are we from
Port Reprieve now?" Bruce spread his field map on the roof of the coach
between his legs and found the brackets that straddled the convoluted
ribbon of the river.
"Here we are." He touched it and then ran his finger along the stitched
line of the railway until it reached the red circle that marked Port
Reprieve. "About thirty miles to 90, another hour's run.
We'll be there before dark."
"Those are the Lufira hills." Mike Haig pointed to the blue smudge that
only just showed above the forest ahead of them.
"We'll be able to see the town from the top," agreed Bruce. "The river
runs parallel to them on the other side, and the swamp is off to the
right, the swamp is the source of the river." He rolled the map and
passed it back to Ruffy who slid it into the plastic map case.
"Ruffy, Lieutenant Haig and I are going ahead to have a look at the
bridge. Keep an eye on the bush."
"Okay, boss. You want a beer to take with you?"
"Thanks." Bruce was thirsty and he emptied half the bottle before
climbing down to join Mike on the gravel embankment.
Rifles unslung, watching the bush on each side uneasily, they hurried
forward and with relief reached the bridge and went out into the centre
of it.
"Seems solid enough commented Mike. "No one has tampered with it."
"It's wood." Bruce stamped on the heavy wild mahogany timbers.
They were three feet thick and stained with a dark t chemical to inhibit
rotting.
"So, it's wood?" enquired Mike.
"Wood burns," explained Bruce. "It would be easy to burn it down." He
leaned his elbows on the guard rail, drained the beer bottle and dropped
it to the surface of the river twenty feet below. There was a thoughtful
expression on his face.
"Very probably there are Baluba in the bush'- he pointed at the banks
-'watching us at this moment. They might get the same idea. I
wonder if I should leave a guard here?" Mike leaned on the rail beside
him and they both stared out to where the river took a bend two hundred
yards downstream; in the crook of the bend grew a tree twice as tall as
any of its neighbours. The trunk was straight and covered with smooth
silvery bark and its foliage piled to a high green steeple against the
clouds. It was the natural point of focus for their eyes as they weighed
the problem.
"I wonder what kind of tree that is. I've never seen one like it
before." Bruce was momentarily diverted by the grandeur of it. "It looks
like a giant blue gum."
"It's quite a sight," Mike concurred.
"I'd like to go down and have a closer,-" Then suddenly he stiffened and
there was an edge of alarm in his voice as he pointed.
"Bruce, there! What's that in the lower branches?"
"Where?" Just above the first fork, on the left-" Mike was pointing and
suddenly
Bruce saw it. For a second he thought it was a leopard, then he realized
it was too dark and long.
"It's a man," exclaimed Mike.
"Baluba," snapped Bruce; he could see the shape now and the sheen
of naked black flesh, the kilt of animal tails and the headdress of
feathers. A long bow stood up behind the man's shoulder as he balanced
on the branch and steadied himself with one hand against the trunk. He
was watching them.
Bruce glanced round at the train. Hendry had noticed their agitation
and, following the direction of Mike's raised arm, he had spotted the
Baluba. Bruce realized what Hendry was going to do and he
opened his mouth to shout, but before he could do so Hendry had snatched
his rifle off his shoulder, swung it up and fired a long, rushing,
hammering burst.
1 "The trigger-happy idiot," snarled Bruce and looked back at the tree.
Stabs of white bark were flying from the trunk and the bullets reaped
leaves that fluttered down like crippled insects, but the Baluba had
disappeared.
The gunfire ceased abruptly and in its place Hendry was shouting with
hoarse excitement.
"I got him, I got the bastard."
"Hendry!" Bruce's voice was also hoarse, but with anger, "Who ordered
you to fire?"
"He was a bloody
Baluba, a mucking big bloody Baluba.
Didn't you see him, hey? Didn't you see him, man?"
"Come here, Hendry."
"I got the bastard," rejoiced Hendry.
"Are you deaf? Come here!" While Hendry climbed down from the truck and
came towards them Bruce asked Haig:
"Did he hit him?"
"I'm not sure. I don't think so, I think he jumped. If he had been hit
he'd have been thrown backwards, you know how it knocks them over."
"Yes," said Bruce, "I know." A .300 bullet from an FN struck with a
force of well over a ton. When you hit a man there was no doubt about
it. All right, so the Baluba was still in there.
Hendry came up, swaggering, laughing with excitement.
"So you killed him, hey?" Bruce asked.
"Stone dead, stone bloody deadv "Can you see him?"
"No, he's down in the bush."
"Do you want to go and have a look at him, Hendry? Do you want to go and
get his ears?" Ears are the best trophy you can take
from a man, not as good as the skin of a blackmaned lion or the great
bossed hams of a buffalo, but better than the scalp. The woolly cap of
an
African scalp is a drab thing, messy to take and difficult to cure.
You have to salt it and stretch it inside out over a helmet; even then
it smells badly. Ears are much less trouble and Hendry was an avid
collector. He was not the only one in the army of Katanga; the taking of
ears was common practice.
"Yeah, I want them." Hendry detached the bayonet from the muzzle of his
rifle. "I'll nip down and get them."
"You can't let anyone go in there, Bruce. Not even him," protested Haig
quietly.
"Why not? He deserves it, he worked hard for it."
"Only take a minute." Hendry ran his thumb along the bayonet to test the
