A storm of shouts and cries of protest broke out along the Boer line,
and Sean laughed with savage delight. The Boer fire upon the train
withered miraculously as men jumped up and scattered beneath the spray
of bullets. Most of them streame( back to where their horses waited
behind the crest, keeping well out on the flanks of the Maxim, while a
line of cheering British infantry followed them up from the
train-giving the support that Acheson had promised.
Only a tiny but determined group of Boers came up the slope towards
Sean, yelling angrily and shooting as they came. There was dead ground
directly below the emplacement where Sean could not reach them with the
Maxim.
'Get out of here. Run out to the sides,' Sean shouted back at Saul and
Mbejane as he hoisted the heavy gun on to the rock wall in front of him
to improve its field of fire. But the movement twisted the belt of
ammunition and after the first burst the gun jammed hopelessly. Sean
lifted it above his head, stood like that for an instant and then
hurled it among the men below him. It knocked two of them down into
the grass. Sean snatched up a pumpkin-sized rock from the top of the
wall and sent it after the gun-and another, and another.
Howling with the laughter of fear and excitement, he rained rocks upon
them. And they broke.
Most of them veered out to the sides and joined the general rush for
the horses.
Only one man kept coming, a big man who climbed quickly and silently.
Sean missed him with three rocks, and suddenly he was too close-not ten
feet away. There he paused and lifted his rifle. Even in the dark, at
that range, the Boer could hardly miss and Sean sprang from the top of
the wall. For an instant he dropped free, and then with a shock that
knocked the wind from both of them, he drove into the burgher's chest.
They rolled down the slope, kicking and grappling, bouncing over the
rocky ground, until a small thorn bush held them.
'Now, you bloody Dutchman!' rasped Sean. He knew there was only one
possible outcome to this encounter. With supreme confidence in his own
strength Sean reached for the man's throat, and with a sense of
disbelief felt his wrist held in a grip that made the bone creak.
'Kom, ons slaat aan, ' the burgher's mouth was an inch from Sean's ear,
and the voice was unmistakable.
Jan Paulus!'
'Sean!' The shock of recognition eased his grip for an instant, and
Sean broke his hand loose.
Only once in his life had Sean met a man whose strength matched his
own-and now again they were pitted against each other. He drove the
heel of his right hand up under Jan Paulus's chin, forcing his head
back against the encircling left arm. It should have broken Jan
Paulus's neck. Instead he locked his arms around Sean's chest below
the level of his armpits-and squeezed. Within seconds Sean felt his
face swelling and congesting with blood, his mouth opened and his
tongue came out between his teeth.
Without breath, yet he maintained the pressure on Jan Pauls's neck,
felt it give fractionally-and knew that another inch of movement would
