Get a Load of This (12 page)

     Usually, long spells of celibacy did not affect him, but that was before he had known Nina. Now, this privation was hard to bear. Not because his body clamoured for relief; it was not that. Nina was so lovely. Lying with her was an experience that no other woman had ever offered him. It was as if he had been swept up by an angry sea. The roar of the surf pounding in his ears, and he could let himself relax to her without reservation. That was it. He could relax whereas, before, he was always a spectator, nervous of criticism, anxious that he should be a great lover. And it was so hard to bear, this privation, because it might never happen again. It was precious, because he did not know when he would see her again. He did not even know if he would ever see her again.
     He glanced at his wrist-watch. Cortez had been gone an hour. Eleven more hours to wait, and then he could go too. Suppose Pablo didn't attack? Suppose, after all, he could get away from this farm and follow Cortez into safety over the hill. If that happened, he would not risk another day like this. He would go immediately to Nina and together they would slip across the border and forget all about the revolution. They would live, then, for themselves. Hadn't he done enough for the revolution? One man couldn't make it a success. No matter how hard he fought, it wasn't enough. No, he would go with Nina and forget about it for ever.
     Golz, on the crest of the hill, was standing very still with his back turned to the farm. Holtz watched him idly. Then his heart gave a sudden lurch as Golz spun on his heel and began to run towards the farm. Holtz could see the dust spurting up under his feet as he came. He beat the air with one hand and held his rifle a little away from his body with the other.
     Holtz knew what it meant. He felt a cold sweat break out under his arms and his mouth went very dry. He sat by the gun, holding the shaped firing lever tightly. Golz pounded past Dedos, and Holtz heard him shout something to him as he passed. Dedos scrambled to his feet and ran over to the box-exploder. Holtz could see the flash of his teeth as he grinned delightedly. He didn't care about Pablo. He had no fear. Perhaps, when he was killed, he had no one who would die a little because of his death.
     Golz had reached the farm, and Holtz could hear him speaking to Castra. The sergeant came upstairs. His face was immovable as he saluted stiffly. “A body of horsemen are approaching,” he said. “They are some way off. Am I to go forward and ascertain their strength?”
     Holtz nodded. “Report to me immediately,” he said. He hoped Castra hadn't seen fear in his face. “Be careful that they do not see you.”
     It was an absurd thing to have said, but he wanted to show Castra that he was intent on the operation, instead of wishing that he was miles away from it.
     Castra came back after several minutes. “It is a patrol,” he said; “about fifteen men. There is no sign of the main body of the army.”
     Holtz got to his feet. This was unexpected. He had laid a big mine, expecting the whole of Pablo's army. How long it would be before Pablo arrived on the scene he couldn't guess, but it was useless to use the mine on a mere handful of men. He told Castra to recall Dedos. “The Lewis gun will be enough for them. Take your rifles and cover the road as well. When they come within range, I will do what I can to wipe them all out, and then you can finish the rest by rifle-fire.”
     He watched Castra place his men under cover. Dedos had taken his rifle and had gone behind a large iron barrel which had been used to store gasoline. Holtz could see him quite clearly. There was a heavy, savage frown on his face, and Holtz guessed he was very disappointed that he was not to fire the mine.
     Holtz laid the Lewis gun's sights directly on the middle of the road. He hoped the approaching patrol would be massed together. He mustn't take any chances. He knew that he might have Pablo's main army to deal with very shortly. The patrol would have to be wiped out immediately and no one to escape to warn Pablo.
     It seemed a long time before the horsemen suddenly appeared over the crest of the hill. They came down the road in two files. They seemed in no hurry and they sat their horses easily. Their rifles were across their backs, and they seemed to be quite unaware that they might run into an ambush at any moment.
     Holtz adjusted the sight of the gun. Two long bursts ought to do it, he thought. He was aware that his heart was bounding and fluttering against his ribs. He was holding the firing lever so tightly that his hands ached. He would wait until they were within twenty feet of the mine. It wouldn't do for them to disturb Dedos' work. He could see them quite plainly now. They were all very young looking, hard and cruel. One of them was singing in a mournful way as he jogged along. The horses looked as if they had come far. Their black hides glistened with sweat and they kept tossing their heads impatiently. They were good horses, and Holtz automatically shifted the sights of the gun a little higher. He loved horses and it meant more to him to kill a horse than it did to kill one of Pablo's men.
     Another four paces. His hands began to draw in the slack on the firing lever, then the Lewis gun suddenly began firing. The noise was very violent in the still, silent room. Four of the horsemen fell from their saddles like badly stuffed dolls. The rest of the patrol was thrown into utter confusion. Horses reared. Men struggled to draw their revolvers and control the horses at the same time. The dust in the road swept up under the plunging feet and Holtz could hear the sharp crack of his men's rifles as they began to fire also. He hastily shifted the gun a little and kept firing. Three horses went down in a screaming, kicking heap. The riders were thrown under the hoofs of the other horses and were kicked and trampled to pulp. Holtz drew his lips off his teeth and concentrated the murderous fire on the remaining eight men. These had recovered from their surprise and had thrown themselves off their horses and down on to the road.
     As Holtz swept the gun-sights over them the Lewis gun suddenly stopped firing. A misplaced cartridge had jammed the feed. Feverishly, Holtz tugged and jerked, his fingers slippery with sweat. The cartridge was jammed tight. Jerking his revolver from his holster, he hammered at it with the butt and managed to clear it. All the time he was working he could hear the sounds of rifle-fire, and prayed that his men had achieved what he had failed to do. As soon as he had cleared the feed, he swung the gun up into position again. There were only five horses and seven men lying in the road, the others had disappeared. He stood up and yelled through the window to Castra. After a moment, Castra slid from cover and wormed his way across to the farmhouse. From the opposite side of the road, under cover of the thick desert shrubs, two rifle-shots rang out. Holtz saw little puffs of dust spurt up close to Castra, who sprang to his feet and darted into the farmhouse. Holtz swung the Lewis gun and fired a short burst at where the shots had come from. He could see the shrubs shudder under the hail of bullets, but there was no sound to tell him that he had hit anyone. There was now complete silence over the farmhouse and the road. They had all gone to ground and were waiting for each other to show themselves.
     Castra came up the stairs and into the room. He saluted stiffly. “It was the horses,” he said; “eight of the patrol are over there in the thicket. We tried to shoot them down, but the horses got in our way. What shall we do now, Lieutenant?”
     Holtz got up from the gun. “Take this over.”
     Castra sat down behind the gun, looking at Holtz enquiringly.
     “Where are the rest of our men?” Holtz asked aloud.
     “Dedos is behind the barrel over there. Golz and Fernando are together behind that wagon. They have all a good view of the road, Lieutenant.”
     Holtz wiped the sweat from his face with a soiled handkerchief. He was worried. “They had better all come in,” he said. “We are too small to be scattered. Pablo's army may be here at any moment.”
     Castra shrugged. “It would be dangerous to move them now,” he pointed out. “There is no cover for them to get to the house, Lieutenant. They may all be hit.”
     Holtz knew that he was right. He cursed the Lewis gun savagely. “If that goddamned thing hadn't jammed, we should have wiped out the whole patrol. As it is, we are in a difficult situation.”
     Castra nodded. The expression on his face was very resigned. He was so used to Cortez' misfortunes that this new difficulty had not surprised him.
     A sudden volley came from the thicket and Holtz could hear the bullets smack against the walls of the house.
     “They have automatic rifles,” he said, staring at Castra, who nodded again. “Blast them out of the thicket,” he went on. “It is the only way.”
     Castra turned the sights of the gun on the thick shrubs on the opposite side of the road and swept it with a hail of lead. The noise of the gun set Holtz's teeth on edge. Again the silence that followed did not indicate that anyone had been hit. Holtz stood undecided, staring out of the small loophole that had been made. He thought he saw a slight movement over to the right and, drawing his revolver, he sighted carefully and squeezed the trigger. Above the sharp crack of the gun a sudden wail came to them, and a man staggered up from the long grass, took two tottering steps forward and fell on his face.
     Castra glanced at Holtz. There was a look of surprise and admiration on his face. “That was good, Lieutenant,” he said. “That was very good.”
     “Seven more, unless they have withdrawn to get help.”
     “I think not. The horses ran away from them. It is too hot to walk far. No, I think they all remain.”
     A round, black object suddenly sailed up in the air. Holtz couldn't be sure just where it came from. He watched it make a slow and graceful parabola and he shouted, “Look out, down there, look out.”
     The hand-grenade must have been a very good one. It went off with a vicious explosion just by the cart behind which Fernando and Golz were sheltering. Two terrified yells followed the explosion and Golz came running out behind the cart, holding his hands over his ears.
     Holtz yelled, “Get back, you fool! Get back, under cover!” But Golz was too frightened to listen. The automatic rifle barked twice from across the way and Golz fell backwards, clutching at his chest.
     Holtz said, “The mad, undisciplined swine.” He peered through the loophole, trying to catch a glimpse of Fernando. He thought he could make out one of his boots just by the cartwheel, but he couldn't be sure. “Do you think he's been hurt?” he asked Castra anxiously.
     “Stunned, perhaps,” Castra said, fiddling with the firing lever. “That was a very good bomb, Lieutenant.”
     “Yes, yes, but Fernando—” Holtz took a step to the door and then paused.
     Castra shook his head. “No, Lieutenant. You should not take risks. If he has gone, it cannot be helped.”
     Holtz turned miserably back to the loophole. A large red stain had appeared by the cart-wheel. “Look, he has been hit. Look, he is bleeding to death.”
     Castra said, “We cannot do anything.” His face had become very grim and hard. Two men in less than a half an hour. That was very bad.
     Holtz said: “Watch very carefully. If they throw another grenade, fire immediately.”
     Castra slouched lower over the gun. He swung its sights slowly backwards and forwards, covering the thicket, waiting.
     A long silence ensued. Neither of the men spoke. They remained tense and watchful. Then, quite close to the road, away to the left, another grenade came sailing across to the farmhouse. Castra whipped the gun round and fired a long, raking burst. They had no time to feel jubilant as another of Pablo's patrol suddenly sprang to his feet, only to fall over on his face, because the grenade struck the wooden planks they had nailed across the window and burst with a shattering roar.
     Holtz felt the rush of air as bits of wood and shrapnel flicked past him, and the violence of the explosion threw him on his knees.
     He heard the Lewis gun crash over on its side and Castra rolled over on his back, his face a spongy mass of blood. He lay there moaning.
     Holtz crawled over to him, feeling horribly sick. Castra had received the full force of the splinters from the shutters as well as bits of shrapnel from the grenade. His face looked as if it had been crushed by a heavy weight.
     Holtz knew that he couldn't do anything, but he took Castra's hand in his. “I am here, Sergeant,” he said, “have courage. I am with you.” Futile words, but what else could he say?
     Castra drew in a shuddering breath and gripped Holtz's hand hard. “The gun,” he whispered. “Watch out they don't throw again. Those grenades are very good, Lieutenant.”
     Holtz pulled off his white tunic and made a little pillow of it for Castra's head. “I am quite near to you,” he said. “But I must right the gun.”
     Castra released his hand. “I have lost my eyes,” he said, “I can't help you any more, Lieutenant. I have lost my eyes.”
     “No, no, don't say that,” Holtz said, jerking the gun upright. The grenade had torn a large hole in the wooden shutters, and as Holtz stood up to put the gun into position he heard a rifle crack and a bullet whizzed very close to him, flattening itself against the wall behind him. He ducked down, swearing softly. No wonder Pablo was winning this revolution if all his soldiers were as good as these, he thought.
     Keeping flat, he manoeuvred the gun into position and then ran back to Castra. He knelt by his side. “Can I do anything for you, Sergeant?” he asked, taking his hand again.
     Castra showed his teeth in a horrible effort to smile, which made Holtz feel very bad. The big, even teeth were bright red from the blood that filled Castra's mouth, and as he lifted his lips, blood ran out of the side of his mouth on to his soiled white tunic. “Don't let these bastards beat you, Lieutenant,” he said in a thick, choked whisper. “Avenge me.”
     Holtz could not bear to look at him any longer. He went back on hands and knees to the gun. He wondered where Dedos was. There was no sign of him behind the barrel. He lay flat, his hands on the firing lever, waiting.
     There was a long silence and then, cautiously, from behind a tree one of the patrol appeared. He stood looking up at the farmhouse, his long, automatic rifle held stiffly at the ready. Before Holtz could fire at him, a rifle barked just beneath and the patrolman staggered back behind the tree. Holtz was fairly certain that he had been hit.