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
