The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur (книги полные версии бесплатно без регистрации txt) 📗

his head with both hands.

The man was jammed in the hole, powerless to protect himself. He

looked up at Bruce and his mouth fell open.

Two-handed, as though he were chopping wood, Bruce swung his whole body

into the stroke. The shock jarred his shoulders and he felt blood

splatter his legs. The untempered blade snapped off at the hilt and

stayed imbedded in the Baluba's skull.

Panting heavily, Bruce straightened up and looked wildly about him.

Baluba were swarming over the guard rail on one side of the bridge. The

starlight glinted on their wet skins. One of his gendarmes was lying in

a dark huddle, his head twisted back and his rifle still in his hands.

Ruffy and the other gendarmes were still firing down over the far side.

"Ruffy!" shouted Bruce. "Behind you! They're coming over!" and he

dropped the handle of the panga and ran towards the body of the

gendarme. He needed that rifle.

Before he could reach it the naked body of a Baluba rushed at him.

Bruce ducked under the sweep of the panga and grappled with him. They

fell locked together, the man's body slippery and sinuous against him,

and the smell of him fetid as rancid butter.

Bruce found the pressure point below the elbow of his knife arm and dug

in with his thumb. The Baluba yelled and his panga clattered on the

floorboards. Bruce wrapped his arm round the man's neck while with his

free hand he reached for his bayonet.

The Baluba was clawing for Bruce's eyes with his fingers, his nails

scored the side of Bruce's nose, but Bruce had his bayonet out now. He

placed the point against the man's chest and pressed it in.

He felt the steel scrape against the bone of a rib and the man redoubled

his struggles at the sting of it. Bruce twisted the blade, working it in

with his wrist, forcing the man's head backwards with his

other arm.

The point of the bayonet scraped over the bone and found the gap

between. Like taking a virgin, suddenly the resistance to its entrance

was gone and it slid home full length. The Baluba's body jerked

mechanically and the bayonet twitched in Bruce's fist.

Bruce did not even wait for the man to die. He pulled the blade out

against the sucking reluctance of tissue that clung to it and scrambled

to his feet in time to see Ruffy pick another Baluba from his feet and

hurl him bodily over the guard rail.

Bruce snatched the rifle from the gendarme's dead hands and stepped to

the guard rail. They were coming over the side, those below shouting and

pushing at the ones above.

Like shooting a row of sparrows from a fence with a shotgun, thought

Bruce grimly, and with one long burst he cleared the rail.

Then he leaned out and sprayed the piles below the bridge. The rifle was

empty. He reloaded with a magazine from his pocket. But it was all over.

They were dropping back into the river, the piles below the bridge were

clear of men, their heads bobbed away downstream.

Bruce lowered his rifle and looked about him. Three of his gendarmes

were killing the man that Bruce had wounded, standing over him and

grunting as they thrust down with their bayonets. The man was still

wailing.

Bruce looked away.

One horn of the crescent moon showed above the trees; it had a gauzy

halo about it.

Bruce lit a cigarette and behind him those gruesome noises ceased.

"Are you okay, boss?"

"Yes, I'm fine. How about you, Ruffy?"

"I got me a terrible thirst now. Hope nobody trod on my pack." About

four minutes from the first shot to the last, Bruce guessed. That's the

way of war, seven hours of waiting and boredom, then four minutes of

frantic endeavour. Not only of war either, he thought. The whole of life

is like that.

Then he felt the trembling in his thighs and the first spasm of

nausea as the reaction started.

"What's happening?" A shout floated across from the laager. Bruce

recognized Hendry's voice. "Is everything all right?"

"We've beaten them off," Bruce shouted back. "Everything under control.

You can go to sleep again," And now I have got to sit down quickly, he

told

himself.

Except for the tattoos upon his cheeks and forehead the dead

Baluba's features were little different from those of the Barnbala and

Bakuha men who made up the bulk of Bruce's command.

Bruce played the flashlight over the corpse. The arms and legs were thin

but stringy with muscle, and the belly bulged out from years of

malnutrition. It was an ugly body, gnarled and crabbed. With distaste

Bruce moved the light back to the features. The bone of the skull formed

harsh angular planes beneath the skin, the nose was flattened and the

thick lips had about them a repellent brutality.

They were drawn back slightly to reveal the teeth which had been filed

to sharp points like those of a shark.

"This is the last one, boss. I'll toss him overboard." Ruffy spoke in

the darkness beside Bruce.

"Good." Ruffy heaved and grunted, the corpse splashed below them and

Ruffy wiped his hands on the guard rail, then came to sit beside

Bruce.

"Goddam apes." Ruffy's voice was full of the bitter tribal antagonism of

Africa. "When we get shot of these U.N. people there'll be a bit of

sorting out to do. They've got a few things to learn, these bloody

Baluba." And so it goes, thought Bruce, Jew and Gentile, Catholic and

Protestant, black and white, Bambala and

Baluba.

He checked the time, another two hours to dawn. His nervous reaction

from physical violence had abated now; the hand that held the cigarette

no longer trembled.

"They won't come again," said Ruffy. "You can get some sleep now if you

want. I'll keep an eye open, boss."

"No, thanks. I'll wait with you." His nerves had not settled down enough

for sleep.

"How's it for a beer?"

"Thanks." Bruce sipped the beer and stared out at the watch fires round

the laager. They had burned down to puddles of red ash but Bruce knew

that Ruffy was right. The Baluba would not attack again that night.

"So how do you like freedom?"

"How's that, boss?" The question puzzled Ruffy and he turned to Bruce

questioningly.

all?

"How do you like it now the Belgians have gone?"

"It's pretty good, I reckon."

"And if Tshombe has to give in to the Central

Government?"

"Those mad Arabs!" snarled Ruffy. "All they want is our copper. They're

going to have to get up early in the morning to take

it. We're in the saddle here." The great jousting tournament of the

African continent.

"I'm in the saddle, try to unhorse me! As in all matters of survival it

was not a question of ethics and political doctrine (except to the

spectators in Whitehall, Moscow, Washington and Peking). There were big

days coming, thought Bruce. My own country, when she blows, is going to

make Algiers look like an old ladies-sewing circle.

The sun was up, throwing long shadows out into the clearing, and

Bruce stood beside the Ford and looked across the bridge at the

corrugated iron shelter on the far bank.

He relaxed for a second and let his mind run unhurriedly over his

preparations for the crossing. Was there something left undone, some

disposition which could make it more secure?