fall out, Courtney. ' A second longer they looked into each other's
eyes, and Sean experienced a powerful desire to shake this man's hand
but instead he started crawling back along the ditch.
'Courtney!' Sean paused and glanced over his shoulder.
'What's the name of the other Guide?'
'Friedman. Saul Friedman.'
Acheson scribbled briefly in his notebook, then returned it to his
pocket.
'You'll hear more about today-good luck.'
'And to you, sir.
From a tree that hung out over the brown water of the Tugela, Sean
hacked a bushy green branch with his bayonet.
'Come on,' and Saul slid down the greasy clay of the bank, waist-deep
into the river beside Sean.
'Leave your rifle. ' Obediently Saul dropped it into the river.
'What's the bush for?'
'To cover our heads.'
'Why are we waiting?'
'For Acheson to create a diversion when he tries to get back across the
bridge. ' At that moment a whistle shrilled on the bank above them.
Immediately a fierce covering fire blared out and a party of khaki-clad
figures stampeded out on to the bridge.
'Now,' grunted Sean. They sank together into the blood warm water with
only their heads, wreathed in leaves, above the surface. Sean pushed
out gently and the current caught them.
Neither of them looked back at the shrieking carnage on the bridge as
they drifted away.
TWenty minutes later and a half-mile downstream, Sean edged across the
current towards the remains of the railway bridge that hung like a
broken drawbridge into the river. It offered a perfect access to the
south and the embankment of the railway would cover them in their
retreat across the plain.
Sean's feet touched mud bottom, then they were under the sagging bridge
like chickens under the wing of a hen. He let the branch float away
and dragged Saul to the bank between the metal girders.
'Five minutes' rest,' he told him and squatted beside him to rewind the
bandage that had come down over Saul's ears. Muddy water streamed from
sodden uniforms, and Sean mourned the cheroots in his tunic pocket.
There was another drainage ditch running beside the high gravel
embankment of the railway. Along it, walking in a crouch, Sean prodded
Saul ahead of him, yelling at him every time he attempted to straighten
up and relieve Ins aching back. Once a sniper on the kopJes behind
them thumped a bullet into the gravel near Sean's head, and Sean swore
wearily and almost touched his knees with his nose. But Saul did not
notice it. With his legs sloppy under him he staggered along in front
of Sean, until finally he fell and lay in a sprawling, untidy heap in
the bottom of the ditch.
Sean kicked him.
'Get up, damn you!'
'No, Ruth. Don't wake me up yet. It's Sunday. I don't have to work
