'Oui, monsieur.' Ahead of them there was no sign of a reception
committee, only the hostile barrier of poles and petrol drums across the
line.
Bruce stood upon the roof and lifted his arms above his head in a
gesture of neutrality. It was a mistake; the movement changed the
passive mood of the gendarmes in the trucks below him. One of them
lifted his arms also, but his fists were clenched.
'U. N. - merde!' he shouted, and immediately the cry was taken up.
'U. N. - merde! U.N. - merde!' They chanted the war cry - laughing at
first, but then no longer laughing, their voices rising sharply.
'Shut up, damn you,' Bruce roared and swung his open hand against the
head of the gendarme beside him, but the man hardly noticed it.
His eyes were glazing with the infectious hysteria to which the African
is so susceptible; he had snatched up his rifle and was holding it
across his chest; already his body was beginning to jerk convulsively
as he chanted.
Bruce hooked his fingers under the rim of the man's steel helmet and
yanked it forward over his eyes so the back of his neck was exposed; he
chopped him with a judo blow and the gendarme slumped forward over the
sandbags, his rifle slipping from his hands.
Bruce looked up desperately; in the trucks. below him the hysteria was
spreading.
'Stop them - Hendry, de Surrier! Stop them for God's sake.' But his
voice was lost in the chanting.
A gendarme snatched up his rifle from where it lay at his feet; Bruce
saw him elbow his way towards the side of the truck to begin firing; he
was working the slide to lever a round into the breech.
'Mwembe!' Bruce shouted the gendarme's name, but his voice could not
penetrate the uproar.
In two seconds the whole situation would dissolve into a pandemonium of
tracer and bazooka fire.
Poised on the forward edge of the roof, Bruce checked for an instant to
judge the distance, and then he jumped.
He landed squarely on the gendarme's shoulders, his weight throwing the
man forward so his face hit the steel edge of the truck, and they went
down together on to the floor.
The gendarme's finger was resting on the trigger and the rifle fired as
it spun from his hands. A complete hush followed the roar of the rifle
and in it Bruce scrambled to his feet, drawing his pistol from the
canvas holster on his hip.
'All right he panted, menacing the men around him.
'Come on, give me a chance to use this!' He picked out one of his
sergeants and held his eyes. 'You! I'm waiting for you - start
shooting!' At the sight of the revolver the man relaxed slowly and the
madness faded from his face. He dropped his eyes and shuffled awkwardly.
Bruce glanced up at Ruffy and Haig on the roof, and raised his voice.
'Watch them. Shoot the first one who starts it again.'
'Okay, boss.' Ruffy thrust forward the automatic rifle in his hands.
'Who's it going to be?' he asked cheerfully, looking down at them. But
the mood had changed. Their V
