Victor dropped beside Stratton, out of breath. ‘I have to be honest with you. I was about to leave you. But it dawned on me that, well, the entire meaning of my life lies in the next few hundred metres. I realised that I’m not going to the camp for my brigade. I can’t help them. I’m going for myself. If I left now, the meaning of all these years would be lost. Does that make sense to you?’
‘Yes. It does.’
‘Good,’ Victor said. ‘I’m glad you think so.’
The order to advance echoed along the line and the Neravistas began to march forward, up the slope towards the trees.
‘At the risk of pointing out something obvious,’ Victor said, ‘we don’t have any rifles!’
‘We’ll have plenty to choose from in a while.’
The thought chilled Victor.
The vegetation grew taller as the Neravistas moved up the slope. Many of them disappeared within it, the swaying tops of the bushes the only indication of their continuing advance.
Stratton moved forward in short stages, then stopped as he pondered on the next phase of the battle.
‘What is it?’ Victor asked, sensing Stratton’s concern.
‘We’re going to be in the line of fire when our guys open up.’
‘I’ve noticed you have a habit of getting in the shit before you figure out the next move,’ Victor said.
‘Do you ever stop griping?’
‘I like griping. This might be my last chance to gripe about anything.’
Sounds from behind made both men look back to see the Indians approaching at a crouching run.
‘For God’s sake, Yoinakuwa,’ Victor hissed in exasperation. ‘I made such a farewell speech. Why are you here?’
‘Ask them,’ Yoinakuwa said.
Kebowa and Mohesiwa stared at Victor and Stratton, gripping their bows.
Stratton shook his head and looked towards the Neravistas’ advance.
When the shelling had ceased, the handful of experienced men among the rebels lining the perimeter shouted for the others to move into their positions. ‘The Neravistas will be coming,’ was the cry.
Most of the men had survived the artillery barrage and now prepared to defend their camp against the frontal assault. Many were dazed or wounded, though, and some were badly disorientated. A cry for help came from a man trapped beneath a dead body that had landed on him. Bits of flesh and severed limbs lay scattered around. A man dragged himself forward into his firing position, ignoring his missing leg which had been blown away below the knee. A comrade applied a tourniquet to the stump so that he would not bleed to death before the fighting began.There were no more stretcher bearers on hand to ferry the wounded back. Every able-bodied rebel was now there to fight.
Louisa suspected that the end of the shelling was an ominous sign. A feeling of helplessness began to overwhelm her and she handed the little girl back to her mother.
‘I have to go,’ she said to David. She left the cover of the sandbags and ran across the courtyard and down the muddy track towards the only place she could think of where she might be of use.
As she approached the medical tent on the edge of the main living-quarters area Louisa slowed to a walk, an expression of utter horror on her face. The tent had received a direct hit. Bodies lay scattered everywhere. Many were those of women and children. Hospitals had an aura of sanctuary about them and, in the absence of a church in the camp, when the shelling had started many non-combatants had tried to take cover around its canvas walls. Shattered structures lay burning and smouldering. Cots had been pulverised along with the bodies that lay in them. A handful of women were attempting to deal with the carnage but they were dazed, emotionally overwhelmed and unequipped.
The sprawling living quarters had been largely destroyed. Smoke billowed from fires and large charred holes in the ground where homes had once stood. Moans and weeping filled the air. A piercing scream went up as a woman staggered from the smoking ruins carrying the limp body of a child.
Nothing in Louisa’s young life had prepared her for such a spectacle. She thought she had seen enough death and destruction at the bridge to harden her but now that had been utterly eclipsed by what had happened here. She didn’t know whether to cry or be sick or just drop to her knees and scream. But all she could manage was to watch in stunned silence.
Movement at her feet snapped her out of her trance and she looked down to see a little girl who was clasping her blood-streaked arm. The girl was not crying - she was simply looking up at Louisa as if to ask what it was all about. Louisa took a firm grip of herself and knelt in front of the child. ‘You’ll be okay. I’ll fix your cut. Where’s your mother?’
The little girl had no answer.
Louisa got to her feet. ‘Stay there and don’t move,’ she said and hurried into the charred remains of the hospital tent looking for anything that was usable. She found a box of bandages and grabbed as many other items as she could.
She returned to the little girl and picked her up. ‘Listen to me!’ she called out to the others. ‘Listen to me!’ she repeated for those too dazed to hear her the first time. ‘Bring all the children, bring the wounded and as many medical supplies as you can carry to the cabins. Get help. We must all help!’
She headed back along the track, calling out for others to follow. She hurried past various manned sandbag defences to the cabin used by Stratton and Victor and pushed open the door. She put the little girl in a chair and immediately set about preparing the room to accommodate the wounded.
Louisa threw wood on the smouldering fire, hung a pot of water on the cooking frame, cleared the table of pots and pans and took a moment to tend to the little girl’s wound.
A strange noise began to filter in from outside and she paused to listen. It sounded like whistles and Louisa wondered what it could mean.
The rebel commanders moved along their defensive lines, moving men to fill any gaps they found, ensuring that bayonets were fitted and each fighter had ample ammunition. The strategy from that point on was basic enough and everyone knew it. The Neravistas needed to punch a hole through the perimeter defence in order to stream into the camp and take it apart. The rebels’ mission was simply to stop them any way they could. Many still hoped that Hector would arrive to assist them. It was the only thing keeping some of them from running away.
A ‘beaten zone’ of open ground had been cleared along the front of the entire perimeter, something the men had complained about while they’d been doing it and now thanked God for. The zone was the width of a tennis court and it meant that the enemy would be exposed for the time it took them to cross it. During any such charge that the Neravistas might make the rebels hoped to kill as many of them as possible.
The line of Neravistas advanced ever closer through the forest, which for some meant hacking a path through it with machetes. Their commanders could be heard shouting at those who were too slow to speed up and at those who were getting too far ahead to hold their positions and keep the line.
The rebels brought their guns into their shoulders, adjusted the sights for close range, checked the positioning of their spare magazines - and moistened their dry lips.
Stratton was waiting for the battle to get started before he headed for the perimeter. It was the only way to avoid getting cut down by the rebel volleys. Another line of Neravistas appeared, running up the track, forty or fifty of them. They stopped to form up in several short lines, one behind the other, and the officers quickly ordered them to advance, one after the other, with a few metres’ gap in between each line.
‘That’s our way in,’ Stratton said.