aside their weapons and went forward. They kicked away the top stones and rolled them down the slope.
'Hurry!' China called. 'Work faster!' And the ironstone boulders rang against each other and struck sparks as they were hurled aside.
'There is the corpse,' the section leader called as Job's bundled head was exposed. He stepped forward and jerked aside the stained shirt that covered it.
'It's the Matabele.' China recognized Job's features immediately.
'I didn't think he'd get this far. Dig him out and feed him to the hyenas,' he ordered.
Two of the scouts reached down and seized Job's blanket wrapped shoulders. China watched with ghoulish interest. Mutilation of enemy dead was an ancient Nguni custom; the ritual disembowelment allowed the spirit of the vanquished to escape so it would not plague the victor. There was, however, a vindictive satisfaction in watching his men exhume the Matabele. He understood what grief this act would cause Sean Courtney, and he relished how he would describe it to him on his next radio transmission.
At that moment he spotted the short length of bark twine. It was twisted lightly around the blanket-wrapped shoulders of the corpse. a moment ie stare at it wit Purr len, as saw it tighten and heard the click of the grenade p he realized what it was, and he screamed a warning and hurled himself face forward to the earth.
The explosion crushed his eardrums and filled his head with pain. He felt the blast wave hit him, and something struck him in the cheek with numbing force. He rolled into a sitting position and for a moment thought that he had lost his eyesight; then the stars and Catherine wheels of light that filled his head dissipated, and with a rush of relief he realized he could see again.
Blood was streaming down the side of his face and dribbling from his chin onto the front of his battle dress shirt. He whipped the kerchief from around his neck and wadded it into the deep gash that a fragment from the grenade had opened across his cheekbone.
Unsteadily he came to his feet and stared down into the grave.
The grenade had gutted one of his men like a fish. He was kneeling and trying to push his bowels back into the hole, but the wet lining was sticking to his bare hands. The second guerrilla had been killed cleanly. The section leader sprang to China's side and tried to examine the gash in his cheek, but China struck his hands away.
'You white bastard!' His voice was shrill. 'You will pay dearly for that, Colonel Courtney. I swear it to you.'
The wounded guerrilla was still fumbling with his entrails, but they bulged out between his fingers. He was making a dreadful cawing bubbling sound that only increased General China's fury.
'Get that man out of here!' he screamed. 'Take him away and shut him up!'
They dragged the wounded man away, but still China was not satisfied. He was shaking wildly with shock and fury, looking around for something on which to vent his rage.
'You men!' He pointed with a trembling finger. 'Bring your pan gas Two guerrilla stan forward to obey. 'Pull that Matabele dog out of his hole! Thit's right. Now use the pan gas Chop him into hyena food. ThIt's it. Small pieces, don't stop! Mincemeat! I want him turned into mincemeat!'
All that morning Matatu led them southward through the abandoned fields and past the deserted villages. The weeds and rank secondary growth gave them good cover, and they avoided the footpaths and skirted the burned -out huts.
Claudia was having difficulty keeping up. They had been going with only brief rests since the previous evening, and she was reaching the limits of her endurance. There was no sensation of pain.
Even the devilish little red-tipped thorns that left red weeping fines across the exposed skin of her arms merely tugged at her painlessly as she passed. Her steps were leaden and mechanical, and though she tried to keep the rhythm of the march, she felt herself running down like a clockwork toy. Slowly Sean drew ahead of her and she could not lengthen her stride to hold him. He glanced over his shoulder, saw how she was lagging, and slowed for her to catch up.
'I'm sorry,' she blurted.
He glanced at the sky. 'We have to keep going,' he answered, and she toiled on behind him.
A little after midday they heard the Hind again. The sound of its engines were very faint and grew fainter still, dwindling away into the north.
Sean put out an arm to steady Claudia as she swayed on her feet.
'Well done,' he told her gently. 'I'm sorry I had to do that to you, but we've made good ground. China will never expect us to have got so far south. He has headed back northward, and we can rest now.'
He led her to a cluster of low thorn acacia that formed a natural shelter. She sobbed with exhaustion as she sank to the hard ground and lay quietly as Sean squatted in front of her to remove her shoes and socks.
'Your feet have hardened up beautifully,' he told her as he ! massaged them gently. 'Not a sign of a blister. You're as tough as aScoutandtwiceasgutsy. 'Shecouldn'tevenraiseasmj attic compliment. Sean pulled her sock over his hand, stuck one finger through the hole in the toe, and wiggled it like a ventriloquist's dummy.
'Okay. She walks good,' he made the sock speak like Miss Piggy, 'but, buster, you should see her in the sack.'
Claudia giggled weakly, and he smiled down at her gently.
'That's better,' he said. 'Now go to sleep.'
For a few minutes longer she watched him working on her sock.
'Which of your trollops taught you to dam?' she murmured drowsily.
'I was a virgin until I met you. Go to sleep.'
'I hate her, whoever she was,' Claudia said, and closed her eyes.
It seemed to her that she opened them again immediately, but the light had changed to soft shades of evening and the midday heat had cooled. She sat up.
Sean was cooking over a small fire of dry sticks, and he looked across at her. 'Hungry?' he asked.
'Starving.'
'Dinner.' He brought the metal billy to her.
'What is it?' she asked suspiciously, peering down at the heap of scorched black sausages, each the size of her little finger.
'Don't ask,' he said. 'Eat.'
Gingerly she picked one out and sniffed at it. It was still hot from the cooking fire.
'Eat!' he repeated, and to set an example popped one into his own mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
'Damned good,' he gave his opinion. 'Go ahead.'
Carefully she bit into it. It squelched between her teeth and burst, filling her mouth with a warm custard that tasted like creamed spinach.
She forced it down.
'Have another.'
'No thanks.'
'They're full of protein. Eat.'
'I couldn't.'
'You won't last out the next march on an empty stomach. Open your mouth.' He fed her and then himself alternately.
When the billy was empty, she asked again, 'Now tell me, what have I been eating?' But he grinned and shook his head and turned the fire devouring his share to Alphonso, who was squatting across of the meal.
'Rig the radio,' Sean ordered. 'Let's hear if China has anything to say.'
While Alphonso was busy stringing the radio aerial, Matatu slipped quietly into camp. He was carrying a cylinder of freshly peeled bark whose ends were stoppered with plugs of dried grass.
He and Sean exchanged a few words, and Sean looked serious.
'What is it?' Claudia asked with concern.
'Matatu has seen a lot of sign up ahead. It looks like there is a great deal of patrol activity, Frehmo or Renanio, he can't tell which.'
That made Claudia uneasy, and she moved a little closer to where Sean sat and leaned against his shoulder. Together they listened to the radio, and again there seemed to be a much higher level of traffic, most of it in Shangane or African-accented Portuguese.
'There is something brewing,' Alphonso grunted as he concentrated on the set. 'They are moving patrols into a stop line.'
'Renamo?' Sean asked, and Alphonso nodded.
'Sounds like General Tippoo Tip's men.'
'What does he say?' Claudia asked, but Sean didn't want to alarm her further.
'Routine traffic,' he bed. Claudia relaxed and watched Matatu at the cooking fire as he carefully un stoppered the bark cylinder and shook out its contents onto the coals. As she realized what he was cooking, she stiffened with horror.
'Those are the most disgusting-!' She couldn't finish, and she stared in awful fascination at the huge, hairy caterpillars writhing and wriggling on the coals. Their long reddish hair frizzled off in little puffs of smoke, and gradually the worms stopped moving and curled into little crisp black sausages.
Claudia let out a tiny strangled cry and clutched at Sean's arm as she recognized them. 'They aren't-!' she
