A fragment of the grenade sliced into the neck of the policeman with the torch, cutting his jugular vein. The force of the explosion sent another of the policemen reeling against the shattered wall of the post. It also splintered the windshield of the Chrysler and knocked Jaffe half silly.
The remaining policeman at the rear of the car, although shaken, threw himself face down in the road and began to crawl under the car.
One of the peasants seeing this move, rolled his grenade along the road and into the policeman’s face. The grenade blew the policeman’s head from his shoulders and shrapnel tore the back tyres of the Chrysler to ribbons.
The third grenade was lobbed into the police post, killing the third policeman who had darted in there for cover and completed the destruction of the jerry-built building. Stunned and bleeding from a cut in his forehead from a flying stone, Jaffe sagged in his seat, too dazed to realize what had happened.
The three peasants had risen cautiously, from their hiding-place and were surveying the scene in the bright moonlight with satisfaction mixed with apprehension. They were pleased to see the grenades had done their work so well, but it seemed that the European driver of this big American car had also suffered, and that would be a bad thing for them once the little brown man heard about it.
Motioning the other two to stay where they were, the peasant with the watch who was the leader of the band moved forward cautiously.
Jaffe saw a dark shape coming towards him. Keeping still, he eased the gun from under his thigh and as the peasant came within six feet of him, Jaffe lifted the gun and fired at him.
The.45 soft-nose bullet smashed into the peasant’s face and he went over backwards like a shot rabbit. He lay in the glare of the car’s headlights so that his two companions saw with horror the brains, bone and blood: all that was left of his head and face.
Jaffe had no idea if there were any more of them out there in the darkness and he crouched down in the car, peering just over the door.
One of the peasants pulled the pin from a grenade and was about to lob the grenade at the car when his companion grabbed his arm.
Unfortunately for them both, the one who had caught hold of the other was a slave to orders. He had been told to kill the three policemen but to avoid hurting anyone else. His instinctive reaction was to stop the other from throwing the grenade. His panic-stricken jerk on the other’s arm caused the grenade to drop from his hand into the ditch where it exploded, riddling the two men with shrapnel and killing them.
Shrapnel flew over the top of the Chrysler and Jaffe ducked. He heard a soft moaning sound close to him and cursing, he swung his gun around only to remember that Nhan was by his side and it must be she who was moaning.
“Shut up!” he snarled at her. “There may be more of them out there!”
He waited for five painful minutes, then seeing and hearing nothing, he cautiously opened the car door and slid out onto the ground. He listened for several moments, then decided the danger was over and stood up surveying the scene.
He picked up the torch that was still alight and lying by the dead policeman and moving cautiously, he walked down the road until he came upon the two dead peasants. He made sure they were dead, then he came back.
“It’s all right,” he said shakily. “You can come out,” and he opened the off-side door and helped Nhan on to the road. He had to support her. She leaned heavily against him and she was shivering with terror. “Okay, okay,” he said impatiently. “It’s all right. Pull yourself together. We’ve got to get out of here.”
But her legs weren’t able to support her, and when he released her, she slumped in the road.
Leaving her, Jaffe went over to the Chrysler and inspected the damage. When he saw the condition of the back tyres, he realized so far as he was concerned, the car was a complete write-off, and he cursed.
He was seventeen kilometres from Thudaumot and was now without transport. Although his head had stopped bleeding, it ached violently. He was badly shaken and shocked by the force of the exploding grenades. The thought of having to walk that distance made his heart sink.
But he knew they would have to leave immediately. Any moment someone might arrive to investigate. The sounds of the exploding grenades would have carried far in the quiet stillness of the night.
He went back to where Nhan was sitting in the road, holding her head between her hands, whimpering. He squatted down beside her.
“The car’s out of action,” he said. “We’ll have to walk. Come on, Nhan, pull yourself together. We’ve got to get going. Someone may come along any moment.”
He put his hand under her arm and hoisted her to her feet. She leaned against him, trembling.
“It’ll take us the best part of three hours to get to your grandfather,” he went on.
“There will be bicycles at the post,” she said, her voice quavering.
He stared at her: wondering why he hadn’t thought of that.
“Do you think so? I’ll see.”
He hurried over to the shattered police post. At the back he found three bicycles, lying in the long grass. He wheeled two of them onto the road.
“That was a brainwave of yours. They’ll save us a hell of a walk. Do you feel like riding or would you like me to take you on the bar?”
Moving shakily, she came over to him and took one of the machines.
“I’m all right.”
He felt a surge of love for her run through him. He thought: Damn it! She’s got guts! I’m a lucky sonofabitch to have her with me!”
“Well, let’s go,” he said, and collecting his holdall from the car, he swung his leg over the cycle.
He watched her mount her cycle, expecting her to fall off, but although she wobbled perilously for the first six or seven yards, she got the machine under control and seemed fairly steady.
He caught up with her and together they began to pedal down the road to Thudaumot.
“If we see any car coming,” he said to her, “we get off at once and lie in the ditch.”
She didn’t say anything. He could see by her strained expression, it was as much as she could do to ride the machine.
As they rode along, he switched his mind from her to his own problems,
He thought: I’m making a bad start. When Sam finds his car’s missing, he’ll charge around to my place. He said he wanted it by seven a.m. When he finds I’m not there at that hour, he’ll imagine I’ve had an accident. He’ll go to the police and tell them I borrowed the car to go to the airport, but will he tell them I was with a girl?
He glanced at Nhan who was pedalling away, the split sheath of her tunic floating behind her.
The chances are, he went on thinking, the police will find the car before Sam knows it’s missing. They’ll get onto the Embassy. Hell! This is really going to start something. The Embassy will try to find Sam. They’ll jump to the conclusion it was Sam driving the car. When he does turn up, maybe he’ll have to tell the police he spent the night with that Chinese girl. He’ll love that! How he’ll curse me!
Then with a slight pang of regret, he realized it now didn’t matter what Sam would think of him. He would probably never see Sam again if he had any luck. Then he had another thought that excited him.
When it’s known I was in the car and the car’s found, he reasoned, they’ll all jump to the conclusion I’ve been kidnapped by the Viet Minh. It’s the most obvious conclusion they could jump to.
He remembered two American tourists, some months ago, who had driven to Angkor and had never been heard of since. Their car had been found, but there had been no trace of them. The Vietnamese authorities had said they had been kidnapped by Viet Minh bandits and had regretfully told the Embassy there was nothing they could do about it.