lifted his head to peer cautiously over the bank. The area in front of
him was a sickening sight. Dead mules and horses with their packs
burst open littering the grass with blankets and provisions.
Wounded animals flopping helpless or standing quietly with their heads
hanging.
'Is there anyone out there still alive?' Sean called, but the dead men
gave him no answer. A sniper on the ridge ploughed a bullet into the
ground in front of Sean's face and he ducked down quickly.
'Most of them managed to crawl in, sir. Those that didn't are better
out there than in the mud here.
'How many did we lose, Eccles? ' 'About a dozen dead, sir, and twice
as many wounded. We got off very lightly. ' 'Yes,' Sean nodded.
'Most of their initial fire went high.
It's a mistake even the best shots make when shooting downhill. '
'They fair caught us with our pants down,' mused Eccles and Sean did
not miss the censure in his tone.
'I know. I should have placed look, outs on the ridge,' he agreed.
You're no Napoleon, he told himself, and you've got casualties to prove
it.
'How many of them lost their weapons?' he asked.
'We've got two hundred and ten rifles and one Maxim, sir, and I issued
an extra hundred rounds to each man just before the attack. ' 'Should
be enough,' Sean decided. 'Now all that remains is to sweat it out
until my native guide brings up reinforcements. ' For half an hour
nothing happened beyond a little desultory sniping from the ridge.
Sean moved along the line talking to the men.
'How's it going, sailor?'
'Me old ma would have a fit, sir. 'George,' she'd say, 'sitting in the
mud is not going to do your piles no good,' she'd say, sir.' He was
shot through the stomach and Sean had to force his chuckle through his
throat.
'I could use a smoke, though. That I could.'
Sean found a damp cigar in his pocket for him and moved on.
A youngster, one of the Colonials, was crying silently as he held
against his chest the blood, soaked bundle of bandages that was his
hand.
, Giving you pain?' Sean asked gently. The boy looked at him, the
tears smearing his cheeks. 'Go away,' he whispered. 'Please go
away.
Sean walked on. I should have put look, outs on the ridge, he thought
again. I should have.' 'Flag of truce on the ridge, sir,' a man
shouted excitedly and Sean clambered up beside him.
Immediately a hum of comment ran along the line.
'They're hanging out their washing.
'The bastards want to surrender. They know we've got them licked.
' Sean climbed out of the river, bed and waved his hat at the speck of
white that fluttered on the ridge, and a horseman trotted down towards
him.
'Middag, Menheer, ' Sean greeted him. He received only a nod in reply
