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“All the windows blown out on this side and the woodwork torn a

little, he muttered. “But a lucky escape all the same.”

“What a miserable comic-opera war this is,” grunted Mike Haig. “That pilot had the right idea: why risk your life when it’s none of your business.”

“He was wounded,” Bruce guessed. “I think we hit him on his first run.”

Then they were silent, with the rain driving into their faces, slitting their eyes to peer ahead along the tracks. The men at the Brens huddled into their brown and green camouflage groundsheets, all their jubilation of ten minutes earlier completely gone. They are like cats, thought Bruce as he noticed their dejection, they can’t stand being wet.

“It’s half past five already.” Mike spoke at last. “Do you think we’ll make Msapa junction before nightfall?”

“With this weather it will be dark by six.” Bruce looked up at the low cloud that was prematurely bringing on the night. “I’m not going to risk travelling in the dark.

This is the edge of Baluba country and we can’t use the headlights oftheloco.”

“You going to stop then?” Bruce nodded. What a stupid bloody question, he thought irritably. Then he recognized his irritation as reaction from the danger they had just experienced, and he spoke to make amends.

“We can’t be far now - if we start again at first light we’ll reach Msapa before sun-up.”

“My God, it’s cold,” complained Mike and he shivered briefly.

“Either too hot or too cold,” Bruce agreed; he knew that it was also reaction that was making him garrulous. But he did not attempt to stop himself. “That’s one of the things about this happy little planet of ours: nothing is in moderation. Too hot or too cold, either you are hungry or you’ve overeaten, you are in love or you hate the world-” “Like you?” asked Mike.

“Dammit, Mike, you’re as bad as a woman. Can’t you conduct an objective discussion without introducing personalities?” Bruce demanded. He could feel his temper rising to the surface, he was cold and edgy, and he wanted a smoke.

“Objective theories must have subjective application to prove

their worth,” Mike pointed out. There was just a trace of an amused smile on his broad ravaged old face.

“Let’s forget it then. I don’t want to talk personalities,” snapped Bruce; then immediately went on to do so.

“Humanity sickens me if I think about it too much. De Surrier puking his heart out with fear, that animal Hendry, you trying to keep off the liquor, Joan-” He stopped himself abruptly.

“Who is Joan?”

“Do I ask you your business?” Bruce flashed the standard reply to all personal questions in the mercenary army of

Katanga.

“No. But I’m asking you yours - who is Joan?” All right. I’ll tell him. If he wants to know, I’ll tell him.

Anger had made Bruce reckless.

“Joan was the bitch I married.”

“So, that’s it then!”

“Yes -

that’s it! Now you know. So you can leave me alone.”

“Kids?”

“Two - a boy and a girl.” The anger was gone from Bruce’s voice, and the raw naked pain was back for an instant. Then he rallied and his voice was neutral once more.

“And none of it matters a damn. As far as I’m concerned the whole human race - all of it - can go and lose itself. I don’t want any part of it.”

“How old are you, Bruce?”

“Leave me alone, damn you!”

“How old are you?”

“I’m thirty.”

“You talk like a teenager.”

“And I feel like an

old, old man.” The amusement was no longer on Mike’s face as he asked.

“What did you do before this?”

“I slept and breathed and ate - and got trodden on.”

“What did you do for a living?”

“Lawyer.”

“Were you successful?”

“How do you measure success? If you mean, did I make money, the answer is yes.” I made enough to pay off the house and the car, he thought bitterly, and to contest custody of my children, and finally to meet the divorce settlement. I had enough for that, but, of course, I had to sell my partnership.

“Then you’ll be all right,” Mike told him. “If you’ve succeeded once you’ll be able to do it again when you’ve recovered from the shock; when you’ve rearranged your life and taken other people into it

to make you strong again.”

“I’m strong now, Haig. I’m strong because there is no one in my life. That’s the only way you can be secure, on your own. Completely free and on your own.”

“Strong!” Anger flared in

Mike’s voice for the first time.

“On your own you’re nothing, Curry. On your own you’re so weak I

could piss on you and wash you away!” Then the anger evaporated and

Mike went on softly, “But you’ll find out - you’re one of the lucky ones. You attract people to you. You don’t have to be alone.”

“Well, that’s the way I’m going to be from now on.”

“We’ll see,” murmured Mike.

“Yes, we’ll see,” Bruce agreed, and lifted the tarpaulin over the radio.

Driver, we are going to halt for the night. It’s too dark to proceed with safety.” Brazzaville Radio came through weakly on the set and the static was bad, for outside the rain still fell and thunder rolled around the sky like an unsecured cargo at sea.

Our Elisabethville correspondent reports that elements of the

Kantangese Army in the South Kasai province today violated the ceasefire agreement by firing upon a low-flying aircraft of the United

Nations command. The aircraft, a Vampire jet fighter of the Indian Air

Force, returned safely to its base at Kamina airfield. The pilot, however, was wounded by small arms fire. His condition is satisfactory.

“The United Nations Commander in Katanga, General Rhee, has lodged a strong protest with the Kantange se government-” The announcer’s voice was overlaid by the electric crackle of static.

we winged him!” rejoiced Wally Hendry. The scab on his cheek had dried black, with angry red edges.

“Shut up,” snapped Bruce, “we’re trying to hear what’s happening.”

“You can’t hear a bloody thing now. Andre, there’s a bottle in my pack. Get it! I’m going to drink to that coolie with a bullet up his-” Then the radio cleared and the announcer’s voice came through loudly.

at Senwati Mission fifty miles from the river harbour of Port

Reprieve. A spokesman for the Central Congolese Government denied that the Congolese troops were operating in this area, and it is feared that a large body of armed bandits is taking advantage of the unsettled conditions to-” Again the static drowned it out.

“Damn this set muttered Bruce as he tried to tune it.

stated today that the removal of missile equipment from the

Russian bases in Cuba had been confirmed by aerial reconnaissance-“

“That’s all that we are interested in.” Bruce switched off the radio.

“What a shambles! Ruffy, where is Senwati Mission?”

“Top end of the swamp, near the Rhodesian border.”

“Fifty miles from Port Reprieve,” muttered Bruce, not attempting to conceal his anxiety.

“It’s more than that by road, boss, more like a hundred.”

“That should take them three or four days in this weather, with time off for looting along the way,” Bruce calculated.

“It will be cutting it fairly fine. We must get through to Port

Reprieve by tomorrow evening and pull out again at dawn the next day.”

“Why not keep going tonight?” Hendry removed the bottle from his lips to ask. “Better than sitting here being eaten by mosquitoes.”

“We’ll stay,” Bruce answered. “It won’t do anybody much good to derail this lot in the dark.” He turned back to