The Dark of the Sun - Smith Wilbur - Страница 31
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gasoline tanker in bright yellow and red with the Shell Company insignia
on the barrel-shaped body. Hitched behind the leading lorry
was a squat, rubbertyred 25-pounder anti-tank gun with its long barrel
pointed jauntily skywards. Round the vehicles, dressed in an assortment
of uniforms and different styled helmets, were at least sixty men. They
were all armed, some with automatic weapons and others with obsolete
bolt-action rifles. Most of them were urinating carelessly into the
grass that lined the road, while the others were standing in small
groups smoking and talking.
"General Moses!" said Shermaine, her voice small with the shock.
"Get down," ordered Bruce and with his free hand thrust her on to the
floor. He rammed the accelerator flat and the Ford roared out into the
main road, swerving violently, the back end floating free in the loose
dust as he held the wheel over. Correcting the skid, meeting it and
straightening out, Bruce glanced at the rear-view mirror. Behind
them the men had dissolved into a confused pattern of movement; he heard
their shouts high and thin above the racing engine of the Ford.
Bruce looked ahead; it was another hundred yards to the bend in the road
that would hide them and take them down to the causeway across the
swamp.
Shermaine was on her knees pulling herself up to look over the back of
the seat.
"Keep on the floor, damn you!" shouted Bruce and pushed her head down
roughly.
As he spoke the roadside next to them erupted in a rapid series of
leaping dust fountains and he heard the high hysterical beat of
machine-gun fire.
The bend in the road rushed towards them, just a few more seconds.
Then with a succession of jarring crashes that shook the whole body of
the car a burst of fire hit them from behind. The windscreen starred
into a sheet of opaque diamond lacework, the dashboard clock exploded
powdering Shermaine's hair with particles of glass, two bullets tore
"through the seat ripping out the stuffing like the entrails of a
wounded animal.
"Close your eyes," shouted Bruce and punched his fist through the
windscreen. Slitting his own eyes against the chips of flying glass, he
could just see through the hole his fist had made. The corner was right
on top of them and he dragged the steering-wheel over, skidding into it,
his offside wheels bumping into the verge, grass and leaves brushing the
side of the car.
Then they were through the corner and racing down towards the causeway.
"Are you all right, Shermaine?"
"Yes, are you?" She emerged from under the dashboard, a smear of blood
across one cheek where the glass had scratched her, and her eyes bigger
than ever with fright.
"I only pray that Boussier and Hendry are ready to pull out.
Those bastards won't be five minutes behind us." They went across the
causeway with the needle of the speedometer touching eighty, up the far
side and into the main street of Port Reprieve. Bruce thrust his hand
down on the hooter ring, blowing urgent warning blasts.
"Please God, let them be ready," he muttered. With relief he saw that
the street was empty and the hotel seemed deserted. He kept blowing the
horn as they roared down towards the station, a great
billowing cloud of dust rising behind them. Braking the Ford hard, he
turned it in past the station buildings and on to the platform.
Most of Boussier's people were standing next to the train.
Boussier himself was beside the last truck with his wife and the small
group of women around him. Bruce shouted at them through the open
window.
"Get those women into the train, the shufta are right behind us, we're
leaving immediately." Without question or argument old Boussier gathered
them together and hurried them up the steel ladder into the truck. Bruce
drove down the station platform shouting as he went.
"Get in! For Chrissake, hurry up! They're coming!" He braked to
a standstill next to the cab of the locomotive and shouted up at the
bald head of the driver.
"Get going. Don't waste a second. Give her everything she's got.
There's a bunch of shufta not five minutes behind US." The driver's head
disappeared into the cab without even the usual polite," Oui monsieur."
"Come on, Shermaine." Bruce grabbed her hand and dragged her
from the car. Together they ran to one of the covered coaches and
Bruce pushed her half way up the steel steps.
At that moment the train erked forward so violently that she lost her
grip on the handrails and tumbled backwards on top of Bruce. He
was caught off balance and they fell together in a heap on the dusty
platform. Above them the train gathered speed, pulling away. He
remembered this nightmare from his childhood, running after a train and
never catching it. He had to fight down his panic as he and Shermaine
scrambled up, both of them panting, clinging to each other, the coaches
clackety-clacking past them, the rhythm of their wheels mounting.
"Run!" he gasped, "Run!" and with the panic weakening their legs he just
managed to catch the handrail of the second coach. He clung to
it, stumbling along beside the train, one arm round Shermaine's waist.
Sergeant Major Ruffararo leaned out, took Shermaine by the scruff of her
neck and lifted her in like a lost kitten. Then he reached down for
Bruce.
"Boss, some day we going to lose you if you go on playing around like
that."
"I'm sorry, Bruce," she panted, leaning against him.
"No damage done." He could grin at her. "Now I want you to get into that
compartment and stay there until I tell you to come out. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, Bruce."
"Off you go." He turned from her to
Ruffy. "Up on to the roof, Sergeant Major! We're going to have
fireworks. Those shufta have got a field gun with them and we'll be in
full view of the town right up to the top of the hills. By the time they
reached the roof of the train it had pulled out of Port Reprieve and was
making its first angling turn up the slope of the hills. The sun was up
now, well clear of the horizon, and the mist from the swamp had lifted
so that they could see the whole village spread out beneath
them.
General Moses's column had crossed the causeway and was into the main
street. As Bruce watched, the leading truck swung sharply across the
road and stopped. Men boiled out from under the canopy and swarmed over
the field gun, unhitching it, manhandling it into position.
"I hope those Arabs haven't had any drill on that piece," grunted
Ruffy.
"We'll soon find out," Bruce assured him grimly and looked back along
the train. In the last truck Boussier stood protectively over the small
group of four women and their children, like an old white-haired collie
with its sheep.
Crouched against the steel side of the truck, Andre de Surrier and half
a dozen gendarmes were swinging and sighting the two Bren guns.
In the second truck also the gendarmes were preparing to open fire.
"What are you waiting for?" roared Ruffy. "Get me that field gun - start
shooting." They fired a ragged volley, then the Bren guns
joined in.
With every burst Andre's helmet slipped forward over his eyes and he had
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