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.