at it blankly. Then he twisted quickly in his seat and looked back.
'Christ!' he swore with fright.
From the edge of the jungle on both sides of the clearing Baluba were
swarming into the open. Hundreds of them running towards him, the
animal-skin kilts swirling about their legs, feather headdresses
fluttering, sun bright on the long blades of their pangas. An arrow rang
dully against the metal body of the tanker.
Bruce revved the engine, gripped the wheel hard with both hands and took
the tanker out on to the bridge. Above the sound of the guns he could
hear the shrill ululation, the excited squealing of two hundred Baluba.
It sounded very close, and he snatched a quick look in the mirror. What
he saw nearly made him lose his head and give the tanker full throttle.
The nearest Baluba, screened from the guns on the south bank by the
tanker's bulk, was only ten paces away.
So close that Bruce could see the tattoo marks on his face and chest.
With an effort Bruce restrained his right foot from pressing down too
hard, and instead he bore down on the repaired section of the bridge at
a sedate twenty miles an hour. He tried to close his mind to the
squealing behind him and the thunder of gunfire ahead of him.
The front wheels hit the new timbers, and above the other sounds he
heard them groan loudly, and felt them sag under him.
The tanker rolled on and the rear wheels brought their weight to bear.
The groan of wood became a cracking, rending sound. The tanker slowed as
the bridge subsided, its wheels spun without purchase, it tilted
sideways, no longer moving forward.
A sharp report, as one of the main trusses broke, and Bruce felt the
tanker drop sharply at the rear; its nose pointed upwards and it started
to slide back.
'Get outv his brain shrieked at him. 'Get out, it's falling!' He reached
for the door handle beside him, but at that moment the bridge collapsed
completely. The tanker rolled off the edge.
Bruce was hurled across the cab with a force that stunned him, his legs
wedged under the passenger seat and his arms tangled in the strap of his
rifle. The tanker fell free and Bruce felt his stomach swoop up and
press against his chest as though he rode a giant roller coaster.
The sickening drop lasted only an instant, and then the tanker hit the
river. Immediately the sounds of gunfire and the screaming of
Baluba were drowned out as the tanker disappeared below the surface.
Through the windscreen Bruce saw now the cool cloudy green of water, as
though he looked into the windows of an aquarium. With a gentle rocking
motion the tanker sank- down through the green water.
'Oh, my God, not this!' He spoke aloud as he struggled up from the floor
of the cab. His ears were filled with the hiss and belch of escaping air
bubbles; they rose in silver clouds past the windows.
The truck was still sinking, and Bruce felt the pain in his eardrums as
the pressure built up inside the cab. He opened his mouth and swallowed
convulsively, and his eardrums squeaked as the pressure equalized and
the pain abated.
Water was squirting in through the floor of the cab and jets of it
