Leopard Hunts in Darkness - Smith Wilbur (книга бесплатный формат .TXT) 📗
They were coming on foot, trotting steadily across the plain. Craig had worked with crack black troops before, he knew that they could keep up that pace for a day and a night.
He jumped down and found Timon's binoculars in the cubby beside the driver's seat.
"There is a foot patrol following us," he told them.
"How many?"Timon asked.
On the roof he focused the binoculars. "Eight of them they took casualties when the truck overturned." He looked back at the sun. It was reddening and losing heat, sinking into the ground haze. Two hours to sunset, Its he guessed.
"If you move me into a good place, I'll give you delaying fire," Timon told him. And as Craig hesitated, "Don't waste time arguing, Mr. Mellow."
Sally' Anne refill the canteen," Craig ordered. "Take the chocolate and high-Protein slabs from the emergency rations. Take the map and the compass and these binoculars." re around the stranded He was surveying the fields of ri m that flat terrain.
vehicle. No advantage to be wrung fro The only strong point was the Land' Rover itself. He knocked the drain plug out of the bottom of the gasoline tank and let the remaining fuel run into the sandy soil, to prevent a lucky shot torching the vehicle and Timon with een around the back it. Swiftly he built a rudimentary scr wheels, placing the spare wheels and the steel toolbox to cover Timon's flanks when they started to enfilade him.
He helped Timon out of the back seat and laid him belly down behind the rear wheels. The bleeding started 4 again, soaking the dressing, and Timon was grey as ash and sweating in bright little bubbles across his upper lip. Craig placed one of the AK 47S in his hands and arranged a seat cushion as an aiming rest in front of him. The box of spare magazines he set at Timon's right hand, five hundred rounds.
"I'll last until dark," Timon promised in a croak. "But leave me one grenade." They all knew what that was for. Timon did not want to be taken alive. At the very end he would hold the grenade to his own chest and blow it away.
Craig took the remaining five grenades and packed them into one of the rucksacks. He placed the British Airways bag that contained his papers and the book manuscript on top of them. From the toolbox he took a roll of light gauze wire and a pair of side cutters; from the ammunition box, six spare magazines for the AK 47. He divided the contents of the first-aid box, leaving two field dressings, a blister pack of pain-killers and a disposable syringe of morphine for Timon. The rest he tipped into his rucksack.
He glanced quickly around the interior of the Land Rover. Was there anything else he might need? A rolled plastic ground sheet in camouflage design lay on the door boards He stuffed that into the bag, and hefted it. That was all he could afford to carry. He looked across at Sally Anne She had the canteen slung on one shoulder, and the second rucksack op the other. She had rolled the portfolio of photographs and crammed them into the rucksack. She was very pale and the lump on her forehead seemed to have swelled even larger.
"Right?" Craig asked.
"Okay." He squatted beside Tiffton. "Goodbye, Captain,"he said.
"Goodbye, Mr. Mellow." Craig took his hand and looked into his eyes. He saw no fear there, and he wondered again at the equanimity with which the African can accept death. He had seen it often.
"Thank you, Timon for everything," he said.
"Hamba gashle," said Timon gently. "Go in peace."
"Shala ease," Craig returned the traditional response.
"Stay in peace." He stood up and Sally' Anne knelt in his place.
"You are a good man, Timon," she said, "and a brave one." Timon unfastened the flap of his holster and drew the pistol. It was a Chinese copy of the Tokarev type 51. He reversed it, and handed it to her, butt first. He said nothing, and after a moment she took it from him.
"Thank you, Timon." kc the grenade, it was for the very They all knew that, Ii nne pushed the weapon end the easier way out. Sally-A into the belt of her jeans, and then impulsively stooped and kissed Timon.
"Thank you," she said again, and stood up quickly and turned away.
Craig led her away at a trot. He looked back every few yards, keeping the vehicle directly between them and the approaching patrol. If they suspected that two of them had left the vehicle, they would simply leave half their men to attack it, and circle back onto the spoor again with the rest of the force.
Thirty-five minutes later they heard the first burst of automatic fire. Craig stopped to listen. The Land-Rover was just a little black pimple in the distance, with the dusk darkening and drooping down over it. The first burst was d answered by a storm of gunfire, many weapons firing together furiously.
"He's a good soldier," Craig said. "He would have made sure of that first shot. There aren't eight of them any more.
I'd bet on that." With surprise he saw that the tears were running down her cheeks, turning to muddy brown in the dust that coated her skin.
"It's not the dying," Craig told her quietly, "but the manner of it." She flared at him angrily. "Keep that literary Hemingway crap to yourself, buster! It's not you that's doing the dying." And then, contrite immediately, "I'm sorry, darling, my head hurts and I liked him so much." The sound of gunfire became fainter as they trotted on, until it was just a whisper like footsteps in dry brush far behind them.
"Craig!" Sally-Anne called, and he turned. She had fallen back twenty paces behind him and her distress was apparent. As soon as he stopped, she sank down and put her head between her knees.
"I'll be all right in a moment. It's just my head." Craig split open a blister pack of pain-killers from the first-aid box. He made her take two of them and swallow them with a mouthful of water from the canteen. The lump on her forehead frightened him. He put his arm around her and held her tightly.
