'Ruffy!' he whispered urgently as he teetered off balance.
He had trodden on a man, a man sleeping in the dust beside the wall. He
could see the firelight on his bare torso and the glint of the bottle
clutched in one outflung hand. The man sat up, muttering, and then began
to cough, hacking painfully, swearing as he wiped his mouth with his
free hand. Bruce regained his balance and swung his rifle up to use the
bayonet, but Ruffy was quicker. He put one foot on the man's chest and
trod him flat on to his back once more, then standing over him he used
his bayoneted rifle the way a gardener uses a spade to lift potatoes,
leaning his weight on it suddenly and the blade
vanished into the man's throat.
The body stiffened convulsively, legs thrust out straight and arms
rigid, there was a puffing of breath from the severed windpipe and then
the slow melting relaxation of death. Still with his foot on the chest,
Ruffy withdrew the' bayonet and stepped over the corpse.
That was very close, thought Bruce, stifling the qualm of horror
he felt at the execution. The man's eyes were fixed open in almost comic
surprise, the bottle still in his hand, his chest bare, the front of his
trousers unbuttoned and stiff with dried blood - not his blood, guessed
Bruce angrily.
They moved on past the kitchens. Bruce looked in and saw that they were
empty with the white enamel tiles reflecting the vague light
and piles of used plates and pots cluttering the tables and the sink.
Then they reached the bar-room and there was a hurricane lamp on the
counter diffusing a yellow glow; the stench of liquor poured out through
the half-open window, the shelves were bare of bottles and men were
asleep upon the counter, men lay curled together upon the floor like a
pack of dogs, broken glass and rifles and shattered furniture littered
about them.
Someone had vomited out of the window leaving a yellow streak down the
whitewashed wall.
'Stand here,' breathed Bruce into Ruffy's ear. 'I will go round to the
front where I can throw on to the verandah and also into the lounge.
Wait until you hear my first grenade blow.' Ruffy nodded and leaned his
rifle against the wall; he took a grenade in each fist and
pulled the pins.
Bruce slipped quickly round the corner and along the side wall. He
reached the windows of the lounge. They were tightly closed and he
peered in over the sill. A little of the light from the lamp in the
bar-room came through the open doors and showed up the interior. Here
again there were men covering the floor and piled upon the sofas along
the far wall. Twenty of them at least, he estimated by the volume of
their snoring, and he grinned without humour.
My God, what a shambles it is going to be.
Then something at the foot of the stairs caught his eye and the grin on
his face became fixed, baring his teeth and narrowing his eyes to slits.
It was the mound of nude flesh formed by the bodies of the four women;
they had been discarded once they had served their purpose, dragged to
)the side to clear the floor for sleeping space, lying upon
