Within a dozen strokes he knew he was in difficulties.
The drag of his boots and his sodden uniform was enormous.
Treading water he tore off his steel helmet and let it sink.
Then he tried to struggle out of his battle-jacket. It clung to his arms and chest and he disappeared under the surface four times before he finally got rid of it. He had breathed water into his lungs and his legs were tired and heavy.
The south bank was too far away. He would never make it.
Coughing painfully he changed his objective and struck upstream against
the current towards the bridge.
He felt himself settling lower in the water; he had to force his arms to lift and fall forward into each stroke.
1 Something plopped into the water close beside him. He paid no attention to it; suddenly a sense of disinterest had come over him, the first stage of drowning. He mistimed a breath and sucked in more water. The pain of it goaded him into a fresh burst of coughing. He hung in the water, gasping and hacking painfully.
Again something plopped close by, and this time he lifted his head. An arrow floated past him - then they began dropping steadily around him.
Baluba hidden in the thick bush above the beach were shooting at him; a gentle pattering rain of arrows splashed around his head. Bruce started swimming again, clawing his way frantically upstream. He swam until he could no longer lift his arms clear of the surface and the weight of his boots dragged his feet down.
Again he lifted his head. The bridge was close, not thirty feet away, but he knew that those thirty feet were as good as thirty miles.
He could not make it.
The arrows that fell about him were no longer a source f terror.
He thought of them only with mild irritation.
Why the hell can’t they leave me alone? I don’t want to play any more. I just want to relax. I’m so tired, so terribly tired.
He stopped moving and felt the water rise up coolly over his mouth and nose.
Hold on, boss. I’m coming.” The shout penetrated through the grey fog of Bruce’s drowning brain. He kicked and his head rose once more above the surface. He looked up at the bridge.
Stark naked, big belly swinging with each pace, thick legs flying, the great dangling bunch of his genitals bouncing merrily, black as a charging hippopotamus, Sergeant Major Ruffararo galloped out along the bridge.
He reached the fallen section and hauled himself up on to the guard rail. The arrows were falling around him, hissing down like angry insects. One glanced off his shoulder without penetrating and
Ruffy shrugged at it, then launched himself up and out, falling in an ungainly heap of arms and legs to hit the water with a splash.
“Where the hell are you, boss?” Bruce croaked a water-strangled reply and Ruffy came ploughing down towards him with clumsy overarm
strokes.
He reached Bruce.
“Always playing around,” he grunted. “Guess some guys never learn!” His fist closed on a handful of Bruce’s hair.
Struggling unavailingly Bruce felt his head tucked firmly under
Ruffy’s arm and he was dragged through the water.
Occasionally his face came out long enough to suck a breath but mostly he was under water. Consciousness receded and he felt himself going, going.
His head bumped against something hard but he was too weak to reach out his hand.
“Wake up, boss. You can have a sleep later.” Ruffy’s voice bellowed in his ear. He opened his eyes and saw beside him the pile of the bridge.
“Come on. I can’t carry you up here.” Ruffy had worked round the side of the pile, shielding them from arrows, but the current was strong here, tugging at their bodies. Without the strength to prevent it Bruce’s head rolled sideways and his face flopped forward into the water.
“Come on, wake up.” With a stinging slap Ruffy’s open hand hit
Bruce across the cheek. The shock roused him, he coughed and a mixture of water and vomit shot up his throat and out of his mouth and nose.
Then he blenched painfully and retched again.
“How’s it feel now?” Ruffy demanded.
Bruce lifted a hand from the water and wiped his mouth.
He felt much better.
“Okay? Can you make it?” Bruce nodded.
“Let’s go then.” With Ruffy dragging and pushing him, he worked his way up the pile. Water poured from his clothing as his body emerged, his hair was plastered across his forehead and he could feel each breath gurgle in his lungs.
“Listen boss. When we get to the top we’ll be in the open again.
There’ll be more arrows - not time to sit around and chat. We’re going over the rail fast and then run like hell, okay?” Bruce nodded again.
Above him were the floorboards of the bridge. With one hand he reached
up and caught an upright of the tie guard rail, and he hung there,-
without strength to pull himself the rest of the way.
“Hold it there,” grunted Ruffy and Wriggled his shiny wet bulk up and over.
The arrows started falling again; one pegged into the wood six inches from Bruce’s face and stood there quivering.
Slowly Bruce’s grip relaxed. I can’t hold on, he thought, I’m going.
Then Ruffy’s hand closed on his wrist, he felt himself dragged up, his legs dangled. He hung suspended by one arm and the water swirled smoothly past twenty feet below.
Slowly he was drawn upwards, his chest scraped over the guard rail, tearing his shirt, then he tumbled over it into an untidy heap on the bridge.
Vaguely he heard the guns firing on the south bank, the flit and thump of the arrows, and Ruffy’s voice.
“Come on, boss. Get up.” He felt himself being lifted and dragged along. With his legs boneless soft under him, he staggered beside
Ruffy.
Then there were no more arrows; the timbers of the bridge became solid earth under his feet. Voices and hands on him. He was being lifted, then lowered face down on to the wooden floor of a truck. The rhythmic pressure on his chest as someone started artificial respiration above him, the warm gush of water up his throat, and
Shermaine’s voice. He could not understand what she was saying, but just the sound of it was enough to make him realize he was safe.
Darkly through the fog he became aware that her voice was the most important sound in his life.
He vomited again.
Hesitantly at first, and then swiftly, Bruce came back from the
edge of oblivion.
“That’s enough,” he mumbled and rolled out from under Sergeant
Jacque who was administering the artificial respiration. The movement started a fresh paroxysm of coughing and he felt Shermaine’s hands on his shoulders restraining him.
“Bruce, you must rest.”
“No.” He struggled into a sitting position. “We’ve got to get out into the open,” he gasped.
“No hurry, boss. We’ve left all the Balubes on the other bank.
There’s a river between us.”
“How do you know?” Bruce challenged him.
“Well-“
“You don’t!” Bruce told him flatly. “There could easily be another few hundred on this side.” He coughed again painfully and then went on. “We’re leaving in five minutes, get them ready.”
“Okay.”
Ruffy turned to leave.
“Ruffy!”
“Boss?” He turned back expectantly.
“Thank you.” Ruffy grinned self-consciously. “At’s all right. I
needed a wash anyway.”
“I’ll buy you a drink when we get home.” “I wont forget,” Ruffy warned him, and climbed down out of the truck.
Bruce heard him shouting to his boys.
“I thought I’d lost you.” Shermaine’s arm was still round his shoulders and Bruce looked at her for the first time.
“My sweet girl, you won’t get rid of me that easily,” he assured her. He was feeling much better now.