'And you?' he asked.
'You know it-' she answered. 'I do not have to tell you.' 'It is almost
morning,' he said. 'There is only a little time.'
'Then I will fill that little time with saying it-' He held her and
listened to her whispering it to him.
No, he thought, now I am certain. I could not be that wrong.
This is my woman.
The drum stopped with the dawn. And after it the silence was very heavy,
and it was no relief They had grown accustomed to that broken rhythm and
now in some strange way they missed it.
As Bruce moved around the laager he could sense the uneasiness in his
men. There was a feeling of dread anticipation on them all.
They moved with restraint, as though they did not want to draw attention
to themselves.
The laughter with which they acknowledged his jokes was nervous, quickly
cut off, as though they had laughed in a cathedral. And their
eyes kept darting back towards the ring of jungle.
Bruce found himself wishing for an attack. His own nerves were rubbed
sensitive by contact with the fear all around him.
If only they would come, he told himself. If only they would show
themselves and we could see men not phantoms.
But the jungle was silent. It seemed to wait, it watched them.
They could feel the gaze of hidden eyes. Its malignant presence pressed
closer as the heat built up.
Bruce walked across the laager to the south side, trying to move
casually. He smiled at Sergeant Jacque, squatted beside him and peered
from under the truck across open ground at the remains of the bridge.
'Trucks will be back soon,' he said. 'Won't take long to repair that.'
Jacque did not answer. There was a worried frown on his high intelligent
forehead and his face was shiny with perspiration.
'It's the waiting, Captain. It softens the stomach.'
'They will
be back soon,' repeated Bruce. If this one is worried, and he is the
best of them, then the others must be almost in a jelly of dread.
Bruce looked at the face of the man on the other side of Jacque.
His expression shrieked with fear.
If they attack now, God knows how it will turn out. An African can think
himself to death, they just lie down and die. They are getting to that
stage now; if an attack comes they will either go
berserk or curl up and wait with fear.
You can never tell.
Be honest with yourself - you're not entirely happy either, are you? No,
Bruce agreed, it's the waiting does it.
It came from the edge of the clearing on the far side of the laager. A
high-pitched inhuman sound, angry, savage.
Bruce felt his heart trip and he spun round to face it. For a second the
whole laager seemed to cringe from it.
It came again. Like a whip across aching nerves. Immediately it was lost
in the roar of twenty rifles.
