bleeding legs.
Defying even the explosion, her hairstyle retained its lacquered elegance except for the powdering of fine white sand. Death had played a macabre joke upon her - for a lump of blue lapis lazuli from the jewel chest had been driven by the force of the explosion deep into her forehead. It had embedded itself in the bone of her skull like the eye of the tiger from the golden throne.
Her own eyes were closed while the third precious eye of the stone glared up at me accusingly.
They are all dead,“grunted Chubby.
“Yes, they’re dead,” I agreed, and tore my eyes away from the mutilated girl. I was surprised that I felt no triumph or satisfaction at her death, nor at the manner of it. Vengeance, far from being sweet, is entirely tasteless, I thought, as I followed Chubby down to the beach.
I was still unsteady from the effects of the explosion, and although my ears had recovered almost entirely, I was hardpressed to keep up with Chubby. He was light on his feet for such a big man.
I was ten paces behind him as we came out of the trees and stopped at the head of the beach.
The whaleboat lay where we had left her, but the two seamen detailed to guard the motorboat must have heard the explosion and decided to take no chances.
They were halfway back to the crash boat already, and when they saw Chubby and me, one of them fired his machinegun in our direction. The range was far beyond the accurate limits of the weapon, and we did not bother to take cover. However, the firing attracted the attention of the crew remaining aboard the crash boat - and I saw three of them run forward to man the quick-firer in the bows.
“Here comes trouble,” I murmured.
The first round was high and wide, cracking into the palms behind us and pitting their stems with the burst of shrapnel.
Chubby and I moved quickly back into the grove and lay flat behind the sandy crest of the beach.
What now?” Chubby asked.
“Stalemate,” I told him, and the next two rounds from the quick—firer burst in futile fury in the trees above and behind us - but then there was a delay of a few seconds and I saw them training the gun around.
The next shot lifted a tall graceful spout of water from the shallows alongside the whaleboat. Chubby let out a roar of anger, like a lioness whose cub is threatened.
“They are trying to take out the whaleboat!“he bellowed, as the next round tore into the beach in a brief spurt of soft sand.
“Give it to me,” I snapped, and took the FN from him, thrusting the short-barrelled AK47 at him and lifting the strap of the haversack off Chubby’s shoulder. His marksmanship was not equal to the finer work that was now necessary. “Stay here,” I told him, and I jumped up and doubled away around the curve of the bay. I had almost entirely recovered from the effects of the blast now - and as I reached the horn of the bay nearest the anchored crash boat I fell flat on my belly in the sand and pushed forward the long barrel of the FN.
The gun crew were still blazing away at the whaleboat, and spouts of sand and water rose in rapid succession about it. The plate of frontal armour of the gun was aimed diagonally away from me, and the backs and flanks of the gun crew were exposed.
I pushed the rate of fire selector of the FN on to single shot, and drew a few long deep breaths to steady my aim after the long run through the soft sand.
The gun-layer was pedalling the traversing and elevating handles of the gun and had his forehead pressed hard against the pad above the eye-piece of the gunsight.
I picked him up in the peepsight and squeezed off a single shot.
It knocked him off his seat and flung him sideways across the breech of the gun. The untended aiming handles spiralled idly and the barrel of the gun lifted lazily towards the sky.
The two gun-loaders looked around in amazement and I squeezed off two more snap shots at them.
Their amazement was altered instantly to panic, and they deserted their posts and sprinted back along the deck, diving into an open hatchway.
I swung my aim across and up to the open bridge of the crash boat.
Three shots into the assembled officers and seamen produced a gratifying chorus of yells and the bridge cleared miraculously.
The motorboat from the beach came alongside, and I hastened the two seamen up the side and into the deckhouse with three more rounds. They neglected to make the boat fast and it drifted away from the side of the crash boat.
I changed the magazine of the FN and then carefully and deliberately I put a single bullet through each porthole on the near side of the boat. I could hear clearly the shattering crack of glass at each side.
This proved too much provocation for Commander Suleiman Dada. I heard the donkey winch clatter to life and the anchor chain streamed in over the bows, glistening with seawater, and the moment the fluked anchor broke out through the surface, the crash boat’s propellers churned a white wash of water under her stern and she swung round towards the opening of the lagoon.
I kept her under fire as she moved slowly past my hiding, place lest she change her mind about leaving. The bridge was screened by a wind shield of dirty white canvas, and I knew the helmsman was lying behind this with his head well down. I fired shot after shot through the canvas, trying to guess his position.
There was no apparent effect so I turned my attention to the portholes again, hoping for a lucky ricochet within the hull.
The crash boat picked up speed rapidly until she was waddling along like an old lady hurrying to catch a bus. She rounded the horn of the bay, and I stood up and brushed off the sand. Then I reloaded the rifle and broke into a trot through the palm grove.
By the time I reached the north tip of the island, and climbed high enough up the slope to look out over the deep-water channel, the crash boat was a mile away, heading resolutely for the distant mainland of Africa, a small white shape against the shaded greens of the sea, and the higher harsher blue of the sky.
I tucked the FN under my arm and found a seat from where I could watch her further progress. My wristwatch showed seven minutes past ten o’clock, and I began to wonder if the case of gelignite below the crash boat’s stern had, after all, been torn loose by the drag of the water and the wash of the propellers.
The crash boat was now passing between the submerged outer reefs before entering the open inshore waters. The reefs blew regularly, breathing white foam at each surge of the sea as though a monster lay beneath the surface.
The small white speck of the crash boat seemed ethereal and insubstantial in that wilderness of sea and sky, soon she would merge with the wind-flecked and current-chopped waters of the open sea.
The explosion when it came was without passion, its violence muted by distance and its sound toned by the wind. There was a sudden soft waterspout that enveloped the tiny white boat. It looked like an ostrich feather, soft and blowing on the wind, bending when it reached its full height and then losing its shape and smearing away across the choppy surface.
The sound reached me many seconds later, a single unwar-like thud against my still-tender eardrums, and I thought I felt the flap of the blast like the puff of the wind against my face.
When the spray had blown into nothingness the channel was empty, no sign remained of the tiny vessel and there was no mark of her going upon the wind-blown waters.
I knew that with the tide the big evil-looking albacore sharks hunted inshore upon the flood. They would be quick to the taint of blood and torn flesh in the water, and I doubted that any of those aboard the crash boat who had survived the blast would long avoid the attentions of those single-minded and voracious killers. Those that found Commander Suleiman Dada would fare well, I thought, unless they recognized a kindred spirit and accorded him professional privilege. It was a grim little joke, and it gave me only fleeting amusement. I stood up and walked down to the caves.
found my medical kit had been broken open and scattered during the previous day’s looting, but I retrieved sufficient material to clean and dress Sherry’s mutilated fingers. Three of the nails had been torn out. I feared that the roots had been destroyed, and that they would never grow again - but when Sherry expressed the same fears, I denied them stoutly.
Once her injuries were taken care of I made her swallow a couple of codeine for the pain and made a bed for her in the darkness of the back of the cave.
