"Get up, you filthy gutter-snipe."

"Hey, Andre, get that. He talks pretty, hey? He talks real pretty

"I'm going to smash that ugly face of yours right into the middle of the

place where your brain should have been."

"Jokes! This boy is a natural comic." Wally laughed, but there was

something wrong with . the sound of it. Bruce knew then that Wally was

not going to fight. Big arms and swollen chest covered

with ginger hair, belly flat and hard, looking, thick-necked below the

wide flat-featured face with its little Mongolian eyes; but Wally wasn't

going to fight.

Bruce was puzzled: he remembered the night at the road bridge and he

knew that Hendry was no coward, and yet now he was not going to take up

Haig's challenge.

Mike Haig moved towards the bed.

"Leave him, Mike." Andre spoke for the first time, his voice soft as a

girl's. "He was only joking. He didn't mean it

"Hendry, don't think I'm too much of a gentleman to hit you because

you're on your back. Don't make that mistake."

"Big deal," muttered Wally. "This boy's not only a comic, he's a bloody

hero also." Haig stood over him and lifted his right hand with the fist,

bunched like a hammer, aimed at Wally's face.

"Haig!" Bruce hadn't raised his voice but its tone checked the older

man.

"That's enough, said Bruce.

"But this filthy little-"

"Yes, I know," said Bruce. "Leave him!"

With his fist still up Mike Haig hesitated, and there was no movement in

the room. Above them the corrugated iron roof popped loudly as it

expanded in the heat of the Congo midday, and the only other sound was

Haig's breathing. He was panting and his face was congested with blood.

"Please, Mike," whispered Andre. "He didn't mean it." Slowly

Haig's anger changed to disgust and he dropped his hand, turned away and

picked up his rifle from the other bed.

"I can't stand the smell in this room another minute. I'll wait for you

in the truck downstairs, Bruce."

"I won't be long," agreed Bruce as Mike went to the door.

"Don't push your luck, Haig," Wally called after him.

"Next time you won't get off so easily." In the doorway Mike Haig swung

quickly, but, with a hand on his shoulder, Bruce turned him

again.

"Forget it, Mike," he said, and closed the door after him.

"He's just bloody lucky that he's an old man," growled Wally.

"Otherwise I'd have fixed him good." "Sure," said Bruce. "It was decent

of you to let him go." The soap had dried on his face and he wet his

brush to lather again.

"Yeah, I couldn't hit an old bloke like that, could I?" "No." Bruce

smiled a little. "But don't worry, you frightened the hell out of him.

He won't try it again."

"He'd better notv warned Hendry. "Next time

I'll kill the old bugger." No, you wont, thought Bruce, you'll back down

again as you have just done, as you've done a dozen times before.

Mike and I are the only ones who can make you do it; in the same way as

an animal will growl at its trainer but cringe away when he cracks the

whip. He began shaving again.

The heat in the room was unpleasant to breathe; it drew the perspiration

out of them and the smell of their bodies blended sourly with stale

cigarette smoke and liquor fumes.

"Where are you and Mike going?" Andre ended the long silence.

"We're going to see if we can draw the supplies for this trip. If we

have any luck we'll take them down to the goods yard and have Ruffy put

an armed guard on them overnight," Bruce answered him, leaning over the

basin and splashing water up into his face.

"How long will we be away?" Bruce shrugged. "A week - ten days'.

He sat on his bed and pulled on one of his jungle boots. "That is, if we

don't have any trouble." "Trouble, Bruce?" asked Andre.

"From Msapa Junction we'll have to go two hundred miles through country

crawling with Baluba."

"But we'll be in a train," protested

Andre. "They've only got bows and arrows, they can't touch us."

"Andre, there are seven rivers to cross - one big one and bridges are

easily destroyed. Rails can be torn up." Bruce began to lace the boot.

"I don't think it's going to be a Sunday school picnic."

"Christ. I

think the whole thing stinks," repeated Wally moodily." Why are we going

anyway?"

"Because, Bruce began patiently, "for the last three months the entire

population of Port Reprieve has been cut off from the rest of the world.

There are women and children with them. They are fast running out of

food and the other necessities of life." Bruce paused to light a

cigarette, and then went on talking as he exhaled.

"All around them the Baluba tribe is in open revolt, burning, raping and

killing indiscriminately. As yet they haven't attacked the town but it

won't be very long until they do.

Added to which there are rumours that rebel groups of Central

Congolese troops and of our own forces have formed themselves into bands

of heavily-armed shufta. They also are running amok through the northern

part of the territory.

Nobody knows for certain what is happening out there, but whatever it is

you can be sure it's not very pretty. We are going to fetch those people

in to safety."

"Why don't the U.N. people send out a plane?" asked Andre.

"No landing field."

"Helicopters?"

"Out of range."

"For my money the bastards can stay there," grunted Wally. "If the

Balubas fancy a

little man steak, who are we to do them out of a meal? Every man's

entitled to eat and as long as it's not me they're eating, more power to

their teeth, say?" He placed his foot against Andre's back and

straightened his leg suddenly, throwing the Belgian off the bed on to

his knees.

"Go and get me a pretty."

"There aren't any, Wally. I'll get you another drink." Andre scrambled

to his feet and reached for Wally's empty glass, but Wally's hand

dropped on to his wrist.

"I said pretty, Andre, not drink."

"I don't know where to find them, Wally." Andre's voice was desperate.

"I don't know what to say

to them even."

"You're being stupid, Bucko. I might have to break your arm." Wally

twisted the wrist slowly. "You know as well as I that the bar downstairs

is full of them. You know that, don't you?"

"But what do I say to them?" Andre's face was contorted with the pain of

his twisted wrist.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, you stupid bloody frog-eater - just go down and

flash a banknote. You don't have to say a dicky bird."

"You're hurting me, Wally."

"No? You're kidding!" Wally smiled at him, twisting harder, his slitty

eyes smoky from the liquor, and Bruce could see he was enjoying it. "Are

you going, BUcko? Make up your mind -

get me a pretty or get yourself a broken arm

"All right, if that's what you want. I'll go. Please leave me, I'll go,"

mumbled Andre.

"That's what I want." Wally released him, and he straightened up