The Sound of Thunder by Wilbur Smith Page A

concentrating his whole attention on the routine of jerking the bolt back, sliding it forward in the same motion, sighting up into the mist of gun smoke, and firing. He did not count the shots and each time the weapon clicked empty he groped for another clip from his bandolier and reloaded. He was starting to sweat now, could feel it trickling down his armpits, his ears buzzed from the concussion of the rifle and his shoulder was beginning to throb.
    Gradually a sense of unreality induced by the clamour of the guns and the smell of burnt powder came over him. It seemed that all he would ever do was lie and shoot at nothing, shoot at smoke. Then reality faded further so that all of existence was the vee and dot of a rifle sight, standing solid in mist. And the mist had no shape. In his ears was the vast buzzing silence that drowned all the other sounds of battle. He was alone and tranquil, heavy and dulled by the hypnotic drift of smoke and the repetitive act of loading and firing.
    Abruptly the mood was broken. Over them passed a rustle like giant wings, then a crack as though Satan had slammed the door of hell.
    Startled he looked up and saw a ball of shimmering white smoke standing in the air above the guns, spinning and spreading, growing in the sky like a flower.
    “What the .
    “Shrapnel,” grunted Saul. “Now they’re finished.”
    Then crack and crack again as the Boer Nordenfeldts planted their cotton flowers of smoke above the plain, flailing the guns and the men who still worked them with a buzzing, hissing storm of steel.
    Then there were voices. Confused and dazed by the gunfire, it took Sean a minute to place them. He had forgotten the infantry1 4close UP there.”
    “close up on the right. Keep the line!”
    “Don’t run. Steady, men. Don’t run. ” Long lines of men, lines that bulged and lagged and straightened again at the urging of their officers, Evenly spaced, plodding quietly with their rifles held across their chests, they passed the guns. Behind them they left khaki bundles lying on the plain, some of the bundles lay still but others writhed and screamed.
    As the gaps appeared in the lines they were quickly filled at the chant of
    “Close up. Close up there on the flank.”
    -They are heading for the railway bridge. ” Sean felt the first premonition of disaster. “Don’t they know that it’s been destroyed? ” - we, have to stop them. Saul scrambled to his feet beside Sean.
    “Why didn’t the fools follow our markers?” Angrily Sean shouted the question that had no answer. He did it to gain time, to postpone the moment when he must leave the flimsy cover of the grass shelter and go out into the open where the shrapnel and the Mausers swept the ground. Sean’s fear came back on him strongly. He didn’t want to go out there.
    “Come on, Sean. We must stop them.” And Saul started to run. He looked like a skinny little monkey, capering out towards the, advancing waves of foot soldiers. Sean sucked in his breath and held it a moment before he followed.
    twenty yards ahead of the leading rank of infantry, carrying a naked sword in one hand and stepping out briskly on long legs, came an officer.
    “Hey, you! ” Sean shouted at him, waving his hat to catch his attention. He succeeded. The officer fixed him with bright blue eyes like a pair of bayonets and the waxed points of his grey moustache twitched. He strode on towards Sean and Saul.
    “You’re heading for the wrong bridge,” Sean yelled at him, his voice high-pitched with agitation. “They’ve blown the rail bridge, you’ll never get across there. ” The officer reached them and checked his stride.
    “And who the hell are you, if it’s not a rude question?”
    “We’re the ground scouts …” Sean started, then leapt in the air as a Mauser bullet flicked. into the ground between his legs.
    “And put that bloody sword away-you’ll have every Boer on the Tugela competing for you. ” The officer, a colonel by the