The Sound of Thunder (12 page)

Sean lifted the dead corporal’s rifle and laid it across his lap.

With his thumb he dipped off the safety-catch, but Saul did not notice the movement.

“She’s in Pietermaritzburg, I had a letter from her last week, he murmured, and Sean shifted the rifle in his lap so that the muzzle aimed into the side of Saul’s chest below the armpit.

“I sent her down to Pietermaritzburg. She’s staying with her uncle there. ” Saul lifted his hand and touched his head. Sean curled his finger on the trigger. “I wish you could meet her, Sean. She’d like you.” Now he looked into Sean’s face, and there was such pathetic trust in his eyes. “When I write I am going to tell her about today-about what you did. ” Sean took up the slack in the trigger until he could feel the final resistance.

“We both owe you-” Saul stopped and smiled shyly. “I just want you to know that I’ll never forget it. ” Kill him, roared Sean’s head.

Kill him now-kill him quickly.

Don’t let him talk.

It was the first conscious command his instinct had issued.

Now! Do it now! But his trigger-finger relaxed.

This is all that stands between you and Ruth. Do it, do it now.

The roaring in his head abated. The big wind had passed by and he could hear it receding. He lifted the rifle and slowly pushed the safety-catch across.

In the stillness after the wind he knew suddenly that from now on Saul Friedman was his special charge. Because he had come so close to taking it from him, Saul’s life had become a debt of honour.

He laid the rifle aside and closed his eyes wearily.

“We’d better think about getting out of here, ” he said quietly.

“Otherwise I might never get around to meeting this beauty of yours.

“Hart has got himself into a mess out there!” General Sir Redvers Buller’s voice matched the pompous jut of his belly and he leaned back against the weight of the telescope he held to his eye. “What do you think, Courtney?

“Well, he certainly hasn’t reached the drift, sir. It looks to me as though he’s been pinned down in the loop of the river, Garry agreed.

“Damn the man! My orders were clear,” growled Buller.

“What can you make of the guns-can you see anything there?”

Every telescope in the party of officers swivelled back to the centre, to where the corrugated iron roofs of Colenso showed above the thorn trees, dimly through the dust and the smoke.

“I can’t … ” Garry started, then jumped uncontrollably as the naval 4.7 bellowed from its emplacement beside them. Every time that morning it had fired, Garry had jumped. If only I knew when it was going to, he thought and jumped again as it bellowed.

“They are not being served,” one of the other staff officers interposed and Garry envied him his composure and his calmness of voice. His own hands were trembling so that he must grip hard with both hands to keep his binoculars focused on the town. Each time the naval gun fired the dust of its recoil drifted over them, also the sun was fierce and he was thirsty. He thought of the flask in his saddlebags and the next bellow of the gun caught him completely off guard. This time both his feet left the ground” … Do you agree, Courtney? ” Buller’s voice, he had not heard the beginning of the question.

“I do indeed, sir.

“Good.” The General turned to his ADC. “Send a rider to Hart.

Tell him to pull out of there before he gets badly mauled.

Quick as you can, Clery.

At that moment Garry made a remarkable discovery. Behind the inscrutable mask of his face with its magnificent silver moustache, behind the bulging expressionless eyes-General Sir Redvers Buller was every bit as agitated and uncertain as was Garry Courtney. His continual appeals to Garry for support confirmed this. Of course, Garry did not consider that another reason why Buller addressed his appeals to him, rather than the regular officers of his staff, was because this was the one quarter from which Buller could rely on unquestioning support.

“That takes care of the left flank. ” Buller was clearly relieved at his decision as he searched out towards the right, fixing the low round bulk of Hlangwane KopJe in the field of his telescope.

“Dundonald seems to be keeping his end up. ” Earlier, there had been desultory rifle and pompom fire from the right flank.

Now it was silent.

“But the centre As though he had been delaying the moment, Buller at last turned his attention on the holocaust of dust and flame and shrapnel that enveloped Colenso.

“Come along. ” He snapped his telescope closed. “We’d better have a closer look at what they’ve accomplished there. ” And he led his staff back to the horses. Careful that no one should usurp his place at the General’s right hand, Garry limped along beside him.

At the headquarters of Lyttelton’s Brigade, established in a deep don ga half a mile before the first scattered buildings of the town, it took Buller half a minute to find out what had been accomplished. It appalled him.

“We hold the town, sir. And three companies have advanced to the road bridge and seized it. But we cannot hope to hold it.

I have sent a runner ordering them to withdraw on the town. ” “But why aren’t the guns firing? What’s happened to Colonel Long?

“The guns have been silenced. Long is badly wounded.”

While Buller sat his horse, slowly absorbing this, a sergeant of the Transvaal Staats Artillerie jerked the lanyard of his quick firing Nordenfelt and fired the shell which changed a British reverse into a resounding defeat that would echo around the world. From out of the broken and rocky complex of hills on the north bank the shell arched upwards; over the river with its surface churned to brown by shrapnel and short shell and blood; high over the deserted guns manned only by corpses; shrieking over the heads of the surviving gunners as they crouched in the rear with their wounded, forcing them to duck as they had ducked a thousand times before; plunging in its descent over the town of Colenso where weary men waited; down across thorn tree and mimosa and brown grass veld littered with dead men; falling at last in a tall jump of dust and smoke in the midst of General Buller’s staff.

Beneath him Garry’s horse dropped, killed instantly, pinning his leg so that had it been flesh and bone, not carved oak, it would have been crushed. He felt the blood soaking through his tunic and splattered in his face and mouth.

“I’ve been hit. Help me, God help me, I’m wounded.” And he writhed and struggled in the grass, wiping the blood on his face.

Rough hands freed his leg and dragged him clear of his horse.

“Not your blood. You’re all right. Not your blood, it’s his. ” On his hands and knees Garry stared in horror at the Surgeon-Major who had stood beside him and who had shielded him from the blast. Shrapnel had cut his head away, and the blood still spouted from his neck as though it were a severed hose.

Around him men fought their panic-stricken horses as they reared and whinnied. Buller was doubled up in the saddle, clutching the side of his chest.

“Sir, sir. Are you all right?” An ADC had the reins and was bringing Buller’s horse under control. TWo officers ran to Buller and helped him down. He stood between them, his face contorted with pain, and his voice when he spoke was shaky, but hoarse.

“Disengage, Lyttelton! Disengage on your whole front!”

“Sir,” protested the Brigadier. “We hold the town. Let me cover the guns until nightfall when we can retrieve them at our … ” .

“Damn you, Lyttelton. You heard me. Pull your brigade back immediately. The attack has failed. ” Buller’s breathing wheezed in his throat and he still clutched the side of his chest with both hands.

“To withdraw now will mean accepting heavier losses than we have suffered already. The enemy artillery is accurately ranged

“Pull them out, do you hear me!” Buller’s voice rose to a shout.

“The guns . Lyttelton tried again, but Buller had already turned to his ADC.

“Send riders to Lord Dundonald’s Brigade. He must retire immediately. I give him no latitude of discretion, he is to disengage his force at once and withdraw. Tell him … tell him the attack has failed on left and centre, tell him the guns are lost and he is in danger of being surrounded. Go. Ride fast. ” There was a murmur among them, horrified as they listened to these orders. Miserably every eye turned to Lyttelton, silently they pleaded with him, for he was the senior officer present.

“General Buller. ” He spoke softly, but with an urgency that caught even Buller’s shell-shocked attention. “At least, let me try to recover the guns. We cannot abandon them. Let me call for volunteers.

. ” “I’ll go, sir. Please let me try. ” A young subaltern elbowed Garry aside in his eagerness. Garry knew who he was, all of them did, for apart from being one of the most promising and popular youngsters in Buller’s command-he was also the only son of the legendary Lord Roberts.

Assisted by his ADC, Buller moved to the shade of a mimosa tree and sank down heavily with his back against the rough bark of the trunk. He looked up at young Roberts, dully, without apparent interest.

“All right, Bobbie, Lyttelton will give you men. Off you go then.

” He pronounced the sentence of death upon him, and Roberts laughed excitedly, gaily, and ran to his horse.

“I think we are all in need of refreshment. Will you join me in a sandwich and a glass of champagne, gentlemen? ” Buller nodded to his ADC, who hurried to bring food and drink from the saddlebags. A stray shell burst twenty yards away, scattering clods of earth over them.

Stolidly Buller brushed a piece of dry grass from his whiskers and selected a smoked salmon sandwich.

Sean crawled down the drainage ditch towards the bank of the river. A shell burst on the edge of the ditch and scattered clods of earth over his back. He paused to brush a tangle of grass roots out of his whiskers and then crawled on to where Colonel Acheson squatted on his haunches in earnest conversation with a captain of the Fusiliers.

“Hey, Colonel Acheson. I doubt you’ll need me again, will you?”

The Captain looked shocked at Sean’s term of address, but Acheson grinned briefly.

“A runner just got through. We have been ordered to with(]raw. I “What a pity!” Sean grunted sarcastically. “Just when we were knocking the daylights out of old brother Boer,” and all three of them ducked as a machine-gun hammered lumps of dirt out of the bank above their heads. Then Sean took up from where he had been interrupted.

“Well, in that case-I’ll be leaving you.

“Where are you going? ” the Captain demanded suspiciously.

“Not across that bridge.” Sean removed the stub of his cheroot from his mouth and pointed with it at the grey structure with its gruesome streaks of new paint. “I’ve got a wounded man with me. He’ll never make it. Have you got a match?

Automatically the Captain produced a box of wax matches from his breast-pocket. “Thanks. I’m going to swim him downstream and find a better place to cross. ” Sean re-lit his cheroot, blew a cloud of smoke and returned the Captain’s matches.

“A pleasure meeting you, Colonel Acheson. ” “You have permission to fall out, Courtney. ” A second longer they looked into each other’s eyes, and Sean experienced a powerful desire to shake this man’s hand but instead he started crawling back along the ditch.

“Courtney!” Sean paused and glanced over his shoulder.

“What’s the name of the other Guide?”

“Friedman. Saul Friedman.”

Acheson scribbled briefly in his notebook, then returned it to his pocket.

“You’ll hear more about today-good luck.”

“And to you, sir.

From a tree that hung out over the brown water of the Tugela, Sean hacked a bushy green branch with his bayonet.

“Come on,” and Saul slid down the greasy clay of the bank, waist-deep into the river beside Sean.

“Leave your rifle. ” Obediently Saul dropped it into the river.

“What’s the bush for?”

“To cover our heads.”

“Why are we waiting?”

“For Acheson to create a diversion when he tries to get back across the bridge. ” At that moment a whistle shrilled on the bank above them.

Immediately a fierce covering fire blared out and a party of khaki-clad figures stampeded out on to the bridge.

“Now,” grunted Sean. They sank together into the blood warm water with only their heads, wreathed in leaves, above the surface. Sean pushed out gently and the current caught them.

Neither of them looked back at the shrieking carnage on the bridge as they drifted away.

TWenty minutes later and a half-mile downstream, Sean edged across the current towards the remains of the railway bridge that hung like a broken drawbridge into the river. It offered a perfect access to the south and the embankment of the railway would cover them in their retreat across the plain.

Sean’s feet touched mud bottom, then they were under the sagging bridge like chickens under the wing of a hen. He let the branch float away and dragged Saul to the bank between the metal girders.

“Five minutes” rest,” he told him and squatted beside him to rewind the bandage that had come down over Saul’s ears. Muddy water streamed from sodden uniforms, and Sean mourned the cheroots in his tunic pocket.

There was another drainage ditch running beside the high gravel embankment of the railway. Along it, walking in a crouch, Sean prodded Saul ahead of him, yelling at him every time he attempted to straighten up and relieve Ins aching back. Once a sniper on the kopJes behind them thumped a bullet into the gravel near Sean’s head, and Sean swore wearily and almost touched his knees with his nose. But Saul did not notice it. With his legs sloppy under him he staggered along in front of Sean, until finally he fell and lay in a sprawling, untidy heap in the bottom of the ditch.

Sean kicked him.

“Get up, damn you!”

“No, Ruth. Don’t wake me up yet. It’s Sunday. I don’t have to work today. ” Speaking quite clearly in a reasonable persuasive tone Saul looked up at Sean, but his eyes were matt and the pupils shrunken to black points.

“Get up. Get up!” The use of Ruth’s name inflamed Sean.

He caught Saul’s shoulder and shook him. Saul’s head jerked crazily and fresh blood seeped through his bandage. Instantly contrite, Sean laid him back gently.