his feet planted wide apart.
'Now, my friend,' he whispered, 'we fight on equal terms.' He pumped a
round into the chamber of the FN and moved towards the kopje, stepping
daintily, the weight of the rifle in his hands, his mind suddenly sharp
and clear, vision enhanced, feeling his strength and the absence of fear
like a song within him, a battle hymn.
He made out the loom of the kopje through the dripping rain-heavy trees
and he circled out to the right. There is plenty of time, he thought. I
can afford to case the joint thoroughly. He completed circuit of the
rock pile.
The kopje, he found, was the shape of a galleon sinking by the head. At
one end the high double castles of the poop, from which the main deck
canted steeply forward as though the prow were already under water. This
slope was scattered with boulders and densely covered with dwarf scrub,
an interwoven mass of shoulder-high branches and leaves.
Bruce squatted on his haunches with the rifle in his lap and looked up
the ramp at the twin turrets of the kopje.
The rain had slackened to a drizzle.
Hendry was on top. Bruce knew he would go to the highest point.
Strange how height makes a man feel invulnerable, makes him think he is
a god.
And since he had fired upon them he must be in the turret nearest the
vlei, which was slightly the higher of the two, its summit crowned by a
patch of stunted broom bush.
So now I know exactly where he is and i will wait half an hour.
He may become impatient and move; if he does I will get a shot at him
from here.
Bruce narrowed his eyes, judging the distance.
'About two hundred yards.' He adjusted the rear-sight of the FN
and then checked the load, felt in the side pocket of his jacket to make
sure the two extra clips of ammunition were handy, and settled back
comfortably to wait.
'Curry, you sonofabitch, where are you?' Hendry's shout floated down
through the drizzling rain and Bruce stiffened.
I was right - he's on top of the left-hand turret.
'Come on, Bucko. I've been waiting for you since yesterday afternoon.'
Bruce lifted the rifle and sighted experimentally at a dark patch on the
wall of the rock. It would be difficult shooting in the rain, the rifle
slippery with wet, the fine drizzle clinging to his eyebrows and dewing
the sights of the rifle with little beads of moisture.
'Hey, Curry, how's your little French piece of pussy?
Man, she's hot, that thing, isn't she?' Bruce's hands tightened on the
rifle.
'Did she tell you how I gave her the old business? Did she tell
you how she loved it? You should have heard her panting like a steam
engine. I'm telling you, Curry, she just couldn't get enough!' Bruce
felt himself start to tremble. He clenched his jaws, biting down until
his teeth ached.
Steady, Bruce my boy, that's what he wants you to do.
