Juggernaut

'All those who had extensive burns or severe wounds are already dead or will die soon — later today, I should think. Now the death rate will fall rapidly. But it will rise again in two days?'

'Why?'

'Sepsis. I would give a fortune for ten gallons of old-fashioned carbolic. We have no disinfectants left, and we are running out of sterile bandaging. Operating on a patient in these conditions is like signing his death warrant. I cannot heal with my knife in times like this.'

I felt helpless; I had absolutely no medical knowledge and sympathy seemed a pretty useless commodity. I offered the only thing I had. 'We'll get you all to Kanja as quickly as possible, Doctor. We can start in the evening, when it's cooler, and travel through the night. Mister Atheridge will be invaluable, knowing the road so well.'

The doctor nodded and went back to work.

I'd never make a doctor, not even a bad one, because I guess I'm too squeamish. Medical friends have told me it's something you get used to, but I doubt if I ever could. I'm tough enough at boardroom and even field politics, but blood and guts is another matter. What we loaded onto the rig weren't people but cocooned bundles of pain. The burn cases were the worst. It was a long and bitter job but we did it, and when we had got everyone aboard somewhere or other, and as comfortable as possible, I went in search of Katabisirua. I found him with Sister Ursula, and as I approached she was saying in a stern voice, 'Now don't argue, Doctor Kat. I said I'll stay. It's all arranged.' She turned to me and said in no less stern a tone, Try and get him to have some rest, Mister Mannix. And you too. All of you.' She marched off across the field without waiting for an answer, heading for one of Sadiq's trucks which stood isolated from the rest in the comparative shade of a couple of palms. Two soldiers leaned casually against it and close by three white bundles lay on the ground. A couple of Nyalans squatted over them, waving palm fronds to keep off the flies.

I said, 'What's all this about?'

'Those are the last of the bad burn cases, three of them. Two men and a woman. They can't be moved. Sister Ursula will stay with them and comfort them in their dying. When they are dead the soldiers will bury them. Then they'll bring her to join us. I cannot persuade her otherwise.'

I looked at the stiff-backed figure walking away. 'She's quite a lady.'

'Yes. Very stubborn.'

Coming from him that was ridiculous, almost enough to make me smile but not quite. I said, 'We're all set to move. I'm about to check with Basil Kemp. Are you ready to board, Doctor?'

'Yes, I suppose so.' We both glanced briefly round at the desolation, the bloodstained earth, the abandoned beds and fireplaces, the debris and impedimenta of human living strewn all about. There had been no time to tidy up, and no reason either. The vultures could have it all.

I went in search of Basil Kemp. He had been very quiet all day, looking punch-drunk like a concussed boxer after a losing fight. He did his job all right but he did it almost as though by memory. Ben Hammond was forming a perfect backup for him, covering up whatever weaknesses he sensed in his boss, though he was doubtless motivated more by his faith in Geoff Wingstead.

'Doctor Kat's coming on board,' I told him. That's the last of it. We're ready to roll any time you say.'

He had planned to push on well into and maybe right through the night. He had not had time to reconnoitre the road very far ahead, but he had the previous surveys to go by, and there were no very sharp bends or steep gradients in the next twenty miles or so. Up as far as the next river course there were no foreseeable problems. That river lay between us and Kanja which was a pity, but all things being equal we shouldn't have too much trouble. All things weren't equal, of course; somewhere a war was probably still being fought, but in the total absence of any news on that score the only rational thing to do was to ignore it. We'd heard no further aircraft activity and the airport itself, a mile or so outside the town, was reported by Sadiq to be completely deserted.

'Right, we'll get moving. I hope to God these damn thatch roofs don't become a nuisance.' He didn't say it, but I could hear in his voice the phrase, 'Or the people either'. Not the man to depend on for kindness, but at least his concern for his precious rig would keep him attentive.

I drove the hire car. Atheridge and I were in front and between us a Nyalan nurse. She was not on the rig as she had injured a leg. In the back were four of the walking, or rather riding, wounded, three of them teenage children.

As I pulled out to drive to my allocated place, ahead of the rig and among the troop trucks, I said to the girl, 'You do speak English, don't you?'

'Oh yes.'

'Will you tell these people behind to yell out if I do anything to hurt them? I'll try to drive smoothly.'

She half-turned and spoke in Nyalan over her shoulder.

'What's your name, honey?'

'Helen Chula,' she said.

'Can you drive a car, Helen?'

'Yes, I can. But my leg — I would have to go slowly.'

I laughed briefly. 'Don't worry, slowly is what we'll all be doing. If necessary you can take over. Mister Atheridge can't do much with that arm of his, though I guess he could stand on a foot pedal if he had to.'

Sadiq's staff car passed us and I remembered something. I hooted and when he stopped I jumped out and ran over to retrieve the shotgun and pack of shells from his car. Walking past us towards his tractor, Mick McGrath stopped dead and looked at the gun with interest.

'Hey, Mister Mannix. You got yourself a shooter. Now what about me?'

'Who do you want to kill, Mick?'

He shrugged. 'Oh hell, nothing like that. It's just that I feel naked being in a war and me without a gun.'

I grinned. 'Get your own fig leaves.'

He went on and I got back into my car, feeling another slight ripple of unease. Atheridge also eyed the weapon quizzically but said nothing as I stowed it with some difficulty, down alongside the driving seat. Behind us the whole convoy was breaking into the gutteral growls that signified engines churning to life, blue smoke belching from exhaust pipes. I stuck my head out of the car window and listened.

My imagination was irrational. Had there really been cries of pain from the sick and wounded people on the rig, I would never have been able to hear them over the rumbling of the transports. But my stomach clenched in sympathy as I visualized the shuddering, lurching torment of the rig's movement under their bodies. I caught Helen Chula's eyes and knew that she was thinking exactly the same thing.

It had to be done. I shrugged, put the car in gear, and moved out. Vehicle by vehicle, the entire procession pulled away from the hospital and the ruins of Kodowa.

CHAPTER 13

The road beyond Kodowa continued to switchback but the gradients were slightly steeper and the hills longer. The average speed of the rig dropped; it was slow enough downhill but really crawled up the long reverse slopes. In general the speed was about a walking pace. Certainly the flock of Nyalans in our wake, injured though some of them were, had no difficulty in keeping up. They were a hardy people, inured to the heat, and well used to walking those dusty roads.

But we worried about these refugees. We had discussed the need to provide them with food and Sadiq had told us that it would have to be gathered on the way. But there were too many women carrying babies or helping toddlers, old men, and wounded of all ages. It wasn't really our responsibility but how else could we look upon it?

As we got going Helen Chula said, 'If I sleep will you wake me in an hour, please?' and promptly did fall asleep, her head pillowed on Atheridge's good arm. I checked on the four Nyalans behind me; two were asleep and the others stared with wary brown eyes. All were silent.