"Mau Mau, you come here. Dis little boy was at Ellenville an' he say he saw Whitey dere!"
Everyone stopped and there was absolute silence — broken only by the thud of boots as Mau Mau ran across the road. He had his hand on the thin little boy's shoulder and bent to talk to him. Voices whispered now, with an undertone of anger like the hum of a disturbed beehive.
"Hurry it up, we haven't all day!" Mau Mau shouted, and his voice was harsh. Things moved faster. The last case vanished into the mist and the truck was empty. Two armed men followed the burdened people. At the swamp edge they turned and raised their right arms, fist clenched. In silence, the others returned the salute.
"Run the jeep onto the path into the swamp," Mau Mau ordered. "And burn it. Make sure it blows up. That will cover any tracks. Throw the soldier into the back of the truck. Get moving into the field and leave plenty of footprints, hear?" Then his voice lowered, the words almost hissing out. "Chopper and Ali pick up the lieutenant. We're taking him with us."
Bruno watched while two men manhandled the jeep off the road to the edge of the swamp and left it astraddle the trail. One of them dropped grenades inside the jeep — then shot a hole in the gas tank. The other man twisted a silver device, about the size of a pencil, which he dropped into the growing pool of gasoline on the ground. They came hurrying back.
"Mistuh, better make tracks," one shouted. "Dat thing blow in one minute."
Bruno turned and realized that the others had gone, vanished already in the rain. He hurried after the remaining two men. They were halfway across the field, following the obvious tracks, when there was a muffled explosion from the direction of the road.
They caught up quickly with the others, who were walking slowly rather than marching. A rough litter had been made with two rifles and a blanket and the officer was being carried in it, his uninjured arm dangling limply over the side. Mau Mau led the way, scowling into the mist ahead. Bruno walked beside him for a few minutes, in silence, before he spoke.
"May I ask you questions?"
Mau Mau glanced at him, then brushed the raindrops from his moustache with his knuckles. "By all means, that's why you are here."
Bruno opened one strap and dug into the pack, pulling out the microphone. "I would like to record this," he said, holding it up.
"You just do that."
"Oggi e il quatro giorno di luglio…"
"Tall English!"
"Today is the Fourth of July, somewhere in the South of the United States. I am with a man whose name I may not mention—"
"Mention it."
"A man named Mau Mau, who is not only a local resistance leader, but is also reputed to be on the Black Power Council of Ten. Would you care to comment on that?"
Mau Mau shook his head in a sharp no.
"I have just witnessed a brief action, a minor engagement in the grim battle that is now gripping this country. I am going to ask him about this, and about the bigger picture as he sees it."
"Turn that thing off now."
Bruno flipped the switch and they walked in silence for a moment. The path had emerged into a rough and partly overgrown logging road that wound erratically through the trees. Mau Mau took the microphone and buried it inside his fist.
"How long will it be before this is printed or broadcast?" he asked.
Bruno shrugged. "I would say, at a minimum, two weeks after it gets to Washington. I would like to ask you for help with that."
"We can get it there for you. But I'm going to sit on it for a month. By that time none of this will matter because we will be someplace else. How are you going to get the tapes out of the country? They are searching things pretty closely ever since the Hungarians printed the stolen New Orleans ghetto massacre pictures."
"I am afraid I cannot tell you exactly. But I will give you an address to deliver the tapes to. After that, well, the diplomatic pouch of a friendly government."
"That isn't quite as friendly as they act. Good enough." He handed back the microphone. The rain had stopped, but the mist still clung to the ground. Mau Mau squinted up at the sky. "They tell me that you are a big praying man. You better pray that this fog and rain hang around. There are still three hours until sunset."
"Might I ask — the significance of that?"
"Planes and choppers. You must understand that we are irregulars and we are fighting the military. Our only advantage is in being irregular. Their disadvantage is that they are too organized. They have to be. They have chains of command and orders come down from the top. They can't have people thinking for themselves or there would be chaos. Now, chaos just helps us fine. These big military minds have finally, and reluctantly, accepted the idea that we control the roads at night. They have to do all their rushing about in the daytime. They have this day thing so stuck in their heads that they sometimes don't notice that there are days that are just as good as nights as far as we are concerned."
“Like today?"
"You're catching on fine. We hit and we leave. The goods we confiscated go in one direction, we go in another. The military finds our tracks and sort of concentrates in this direction. They don't really believe them, they don't believe much of anything anymore, but they don't have much choice. We lead them on a bit, keep them busy until dark, and that is that. By morning we're gone, the supplies are gone, and the world is back to normal." He smiled wryly when he spoke the last word.
"Then we are — so to speak — bait?"
"You could say that. But remember bait is usually placed in a trap."
"Would you explain that?"
"Wait and see."
"Whitey wakin' up," a voice said from behind them.
They stopped and waited until the litter bearers came up to them. The officer's eyes were open, watching them.
"Get up," Mau Mau ordered. "You can walk now, you been in dat baby buggy too long." He put his hand out to help. The officer ignored it and got his legs to the ground and stood, swaying.
"What's your name?"
"Adkins, Lieutenant—10034268."
"Well, Adkins, Lieutenant, are you beginning to wonder why we didn't leave you back there by the road, you being wounded and all that? Isn't often we take prisoners, is it?"
The officer did not answer, and started to turn away. Mau Mau reached out and took him by the chin, dragging his head back until they were face-to-face again.
"Better talk to me, Adkins. I can make big trouble for you."
"Do you torture prisoners, then?" He had a firm, controlled voice that was used to command.
"Not very often. But stranger things have happened in this war, haven't they?"
"To what do you refer? And I prefer to call this a criminal, Communist insurrection."
Bruno had to admire the man. He wondered how he would have acl«&d in the same situation.
"You call it just what you want, Whitey, just what you want," Mau Mau said in a low voice. He went on, still speaking softly. "I think this is more of a war, with you on one side and me on the other. Bad things happen during a war. Did you hear what happened at Ellenville?"
There was the smallest break in the lieutenant's composure. A small start, a slight narrowing of the eyes. If Bruno had not been watching him closely he would never have noticed. Yet the man's voice was calm as ever.
"A lot of things have happened at Ellenville. To what are you referring?"
"Let's move.” Mau Mau said, turning away. "Choppers will be coming soon and we need a few more miles behind us."
They moved in silence after that. The two former stretcher bearers walking close behind the prisoner, guns ready. After about five minutes Mau Man halted them and put his hand to his ear. "Is that a copter out there? Ali, rig that listener and see if you can hear anything."
Ali slung his rifle and took the submicrominiaturized listening device from his pocket. The plastic case was olive drab in color and obviously army issue. He put the earphone into place and sprang open the collapsed acoustic shell. They all watched closely while he turned in a slow circle, listening intently, hesitated, then turned back. He nodded.