street, and the sound of running men. The shouts in the night and then
the guns very close, they were in the room in which he lay, He opened
his eyes. There were men at each of the windows, crouched below the
sills, and the room was thick with cordite fumes and the clamour of the
guns as they fired out into the night.
Andre was cold, the coldness was all through him. Even his hands drawn
up against his chest were cold and heavy.
His stomach only was warm, warm and immensely bloated.
It was an effort to think, for his mind also was cold and the noise of
the guns confused him.
He watched the men at the windows with a detached disinterest, and
slowly his body lost its weight. He seemed to float clear of the floor
and look down upon the room from the roof. His eyelids sagged and he
dragged them up again, and struggled down towards his own body.
There was suddenly a rushing sound in the room and plaster sprayed from
the wall above Andre's head, filling the air with pale floating dust.
One of the men at the windows fell backwards, his weapon ringing loudly
on the floor as it dropped from his hands; he flopped over twice and lay
still, face down within arm's length of Andre.
Ponderously Andres mind analysed the sights his eyes were
recording. Someone was firing on the building from outside. The man
beside him was dead and from his head wound the blood spread slowly
across the floor towards him.
Andre closed his eyes again, he was very tired and very cold.
There was a lull in the sound of gunfire, one of those freak silences in
the midst of battle. And in the lull Andre heard a voice far off,
shouting. He could not hear the words but he recognized the voice and
his eyelids flew open. There was an excitement in him, a new force, for
it was Wally's voice he had heard.
He moved slightly, clenching his hands and his brain started to sing.
Wally has come back for me - he has come to save me. He rolled his head
slowly, painfully, and the blood gurgled in his stomach.
I must help him, I must not let him endanger himself these men are
trying to kill him. I must stop them. I mustn't let them kill Wally.
And then he saw the grenades hanging on the belt of the man that lay
beside him. He fastened his eyes on the round polished metal bulbs and
he began to pray silently.
"Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee." He moved again,
straightening his body.
"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
Jesus." His hand crept out into the pool of blood, and the sound of the
guns filled his head so he could not hear himself pray.
Walking on its fingers, his hand crawled through the blood as slowly as
a fly through a saucer of treacle.
"Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Pray for me now,
and at the hour. Full of grace." He touched the smooth, deeply segmented
steel of the grenade.
"Us sinners - at the day, at the hour. This day - this day our daily
bread." He fumbled at the clip, fingers stiff and cold.
"Hallowed be thy - Hallowed be thy-" The clip clicked open and he held
the grenade, curling his fingers round it.
"Hail, Mary, full of grace." He drew the grenade to him and held it with
both hands against his chest. He lifted it to his mouth and took the pin
between his teeth.
"Pray for us sinners," he whispered, and pulled the pin.
"Now and at the hour of our death." And he tried to throw it. It
rolled from his hand and bumped across the floor. The firing handle flew
off and rattled against the wall. General Moses turned from the window
and saw it, - his lips opened and his spectacles glinted above the
rose-pink cave of his mouth. The grenade lay at his feet. Then
everything was gone in the flash and roar of the explosion.
Afterwards in the acrid swirl of fumes, in the patter of falling
plaster, in the tinkle and crunch of broken glass, in the small
scrabbling noises and the murmur and moan of dying men, Andre was still
alive. The body of the man beside him had shielded his head and chest
from the full force of the blast.
There was still enough life in him to recognize Bruce Curry's face close
to his, though he could not feel the hands that touched him.
"Andre!" said Bruce. "It's Andre - he threw the grenade!"
"Tell him-" whispered Andre and stopped.
"Yes, Andre-?" said Bruce.
"I didn't, this day and at the hour. I had to - not this time."
He could feel it going out in him like a candle in a high wind and he
tried to cup his hands around it.
"What is it, Andre? What must I tell him?" Bruce's voice, but so far
away.
"Because of him - this time - not of it, I didn't." He stopped again and
gathered all of what was left. His lips quivered as he tried
so hard to say it.
"Like a man!" he whispered and the candle went out.
"Yes," said Bruce softly, holding him. "This time like a man.
He lowered Andre gently until his head touched the door again; then he
stood upright and looked down at the terribly mutilated body.
He felt empty inside, a hollowness, the same feeling as after love.
He moved across to the desk near the far wall. Outside the gunfire
dwindled like half-hearted applause, flared up again and then ceased.
Around him Ruffy and the four gendarmes moved excitedly, inspecting the
dead, exclaiming, laughing the awkward embarrassed laughter of men
freshly released from mortal danger.
Loosening the chin straps of his helmet with slow steady fingers, Bruce
stared across the room at Andre's body.
"Yes," he whispered again. "This time like a man. All the other times
are wiped Out, the score is levelled." His cigarettes were damp from the
swamp, but he took one from the centre of the pack and straightened it
with calm nerveless fingers. He found his lighter and flicked it open -
then, without warning, his hands started to shake.
The flame of the lighter fluttered and he had to hold it steady with
both hands. There was blood on his hands, new sticky blood. He
snapped the lighter closed and breathed in the smoke. It tasted bitter
and the saliva flooded into his mouth. He swallowed it down, nausea in
his stomach, and his breathing quickened.
It was not like this before, he remembered, even that night at the road
bridge when they broke through on the flank and we met them with
bayonets in the dark. Before it had no meaning, but now I can feel
again. Once more I'm alive.
Suddenly he had to be alone; he stood up.
"Ruffy."
"Yes, boss?"
"Clean up here. Get blankets from the hotel for de Sullier and the
women, also those men down in the station yard."
It was someone else speaking; he could hear the voice as though it were
a long way off.
"You okay, boss?"
"Yes."
"Your head? Bruce lifted his hand and touched the long dent in his
helmet.
"It's nothing," he said.
"Your leg?"
"Just a touch, get on with it."
"Okay, boss. What shall we do with these others?"
"Throw them in the river," said Bruce and walked out into the street.
Hendry and his gendarmes were still on