Страница 57 из 69
Hendry and a dozen men were in the shelter across the bridge, ready to
meet any attack on that side.
Shermaine would take the Ford across first. Then the lorries would
follow her. They would cross empty to minimize the danger of the bridge
collapsing, or being weakened for the passage of the tanker.
After each lorry had crossed, Hendry would shuttle its load and
passengers over in the shelter and deposit them under the safety of the
canvas canopy.
The last lorry would go over fully loaded. That was regrettable but
unavoidable.
Finally Bruce himself would drive the tanker across. Not as an act of
heroism, although it was the most dangerous business of the morning, but
because he would trust no one else to do it, not even
Ruffy. The five hundred gallons of fuel it contained was their
safe-conduct home. Bruce had taken the precaution of filling all the
gasoline tanks in the convoy in case of accidents, but they would need
replenishing before they reached Msapa junction.
He looked down at Shermaine in the driver's seat of the Ford.
"Keep it in low gear, take her over slowly but steadily.
Whatever else you do, don't stop." She nodded. She was composed and she
smiled at him.
Bruce felt a stirring of pride as he looked at her, so small and lovely,
but today she was doing man's work. He went on. "As soon as you are
over, I will send one of the trucks after you. Hendry will put six of
his men into it and then come back for the others."
"Oui, Monsieur Bonaparte."
"You'll pay for that tonight," he threatened her. ""Now you go.
Shermaine let out the clutch and the Ford bounced over rough ground to
the road, accelerated smoothly out on to the bridge.
Bruce held his breath, but there was only a slight check and sway as it
crossed the repaired section.
"Thank God for that." Bruce let out his breath and watched while - the
line drew up alongside the shelter.
Bruce shouted "Next!" colod was ready at the wheel of the first truck.
The man smiled his cheerful chubby-faced smile, waved, and the truck
rolled forward.
Watching anxiously as it went on to the bridge, Bruce saw the new
timbers give perceptibly beneath the weight of the truck, and he heard
them creak loudly in protest.
"Not so good," he muttered.
"No-" agreed Ruffy. "Boss, why don't you let someone else take the
tanker over?"
"We've been over that already," Bruce
answered him without turning his head. Across the river Hendry was
transferring his men from the shelter to the back of the truck.
Then the shelter started its tedious way back towards them.
Bruce fretted impatiently during the four hours that it took to get four
trucks across. The long business was the shuttling back and forth of the
corrugated iron shelter, at least ten minutes for each trip.
Finally there was only the fifth truck and the tanker left on the north
bank. Bruce started the engine of the tanker and put her into auxiliary
low, then he blew a single blast on the horn. The driver of the truck
ahead of him waved an acknowledgement and pulled forward.
The truck reached the bridge and went out into the middle. It was fully
loaded, twenty men aboard. It came to the repaired section and
slowed down, almost stopping.
"Go on! Keep it going, damn you," Bruce shouted in impotent anger. The
fool of a driver was forgetting his orders. He crawled forward and the
bridge gave alarmingly under the full weight, the high canopied roof
rocked crazily, and even above the rumble of his own engine Bruce could
hear the protesting groan of the bridge timbers.
"The fool, oh, the bloody fool," whispered Bruce to himself.
Suddenly he felt very much alone and unprotected here on the north bank
with the bridge being mutilated by the incompetence of the truck driver.
He started the tanker moving.
Ahead of him the other driver had panicked. He was racing his engine,
the rear wheels spun viciously, blue smoke of scorched tyres, and one of
the floorboards tore loose. Then the truck lurched forward and roared up
the south bank.
Bruce hesitated, applying the brakes and bringing the tanker to a
standstill on the threshold of the bridge.
He thought quickly. The sensible thing would be to repair the damage to
the bridge before chancing it with the weight of the tanker.
But that would mean another day's delay. None of them had eaten since
the previous morning. Was he justified in gambling against even odds,
for that's what they were? A fifty-fifty chance, heads you get across,
tails you dump the tanker in the middle of the river.
Then unexpectedly the decision was made for him.
From across the river a Bren gun started firing. Bruce jumped in his
seat and looked up. Then a dozen other guns joined in and the tracer
flew past the tanker. They were firing across towards him, close on
eachside of him. Bruce struggled to drag from his uncomprehending brain
an explanation of this new development. Suddenly
everything was moving too swiftly. Everything was confusion and chaos.
Movement in the rear-view mirror of the tanker caught his eye. He stared
at it blankly. Then he twisted quickly in his seat and looked back.
"Christ!" he swore with fright.
From the edge of the jungle on both sides of the clearing Baluba were
swarming into the open. Hundreds of them ru
animal-skin kilts swirling about their legs, feather headdresses
fluttering, sun bright on the long blades of their pangas. An arrow rang
dully against the metal body of the tanker.
Bruce revved the engine, gripped the wheel hard with both hands and took
the tanker out on to the bridge. Above the sound of the guns he could
hear the shrill ululation, the excited squealing of two hundred Baluba.
It sounded very close, and he snatched a quick look in the mirror. What
he saw nearly made him lose his head and give the tanker full throttle.
The nearest Baluba, screened from the guns on the south bank by the
tanker's bulk, was only ten paces away.
So close that Bruce could see the tattoo marks on his face and chest.
With an effort Bruce restrained his right foot from pressing down too
hard, and instead he bore down on the repaired section of the bridge at
a sedate twenty miles an hour. He tried to close his mind to the
squealing behind him and the thunder of gunfire ahead of him.
The front wheels hit the new timbers, and above the other sounds he
heard them groan loudly, and felt them sag under him.
The tanker rolled on and the rear wheels brought their weight to bear.
The groan of wood became a cracking, rending sound. The tanker slowed as
the bridge subsided, its wheels spun without purchase, it tilted
sideways, no longer moving forward.
A sharp report, as one of the main trusses broke, and Bruce felt the
tanker drop sharply at the rear; its nose pointed upwards and it started
to slide back.
"Get outv his brain shrieked at him. "Get out, it's falling!" He reached
for the door handle beside him, but at that moment the bridge collapsed
completely. The tanker rolled off the edge.
Bruce was hurled across the cab with a force that stu
wedged under the passenger seat and his arms tangled in the strap of his
rifle. The tanker fell free and Bruce felt his stomach swoop up and