Sad Wind From the Sea - Jack Higgins [51]
They passed through the reeds and into the waterway and they were at once in another world, away from the quiet of the secret lagoon, back amongst the stench and the mosquitoes. As sweat began to pour down his face Hagen glared around him at the marsh and hated it as he had never done before.
After about half an hour of hard paddling Chang turned his head and told him that the village was now only a few hundred yards away. They entered a long strip of open water, the surface of which was completely covered with lily pads and thick green scum. They were about half-way across the water, the prow of the canoe cutting through the lilies, when an automatic weapon opened up from the shelter of the reeds in front of them. Chang gave a terrible scream and fell backwards against Hagen, his chest and stomach neatly sieved.
Hagen lifted his carbine and sprayed the reeds and from the corner of his eye he was aware of Mason frantically trying to pull the sling of the Tommy-gun over his head. Bullets lifted the water into Hagen's face and he emptied the magazine into the reeds. As he hurriedly fitted another clip, Mason cried out sharply and stood up, his hand over his face, blood pouring through the fingers. For a moment he swayed and then overbalanced into the water and the canoe went with him.
The carbine slipped from Hagen's grasp and he came to the surface gasping for air and half-choked by the foul, evil-smelling water. He saw Mason's face, pale and blood-spattered, and struck out towards him, but he had already disappeared beneath the surface before Hagen could reach the spot.
At that moment a canoe bumped into his back. He lifted his head and caught a confused glimpse of several Chinese faces and, most clearly, a rifle that was raised and lowered very rapidly towards him, and then the whole world rocked in a black explosion laced with coloured lights.
10
He lay with his cheek pillowed on the earth and regarded the boots through half-open eyes. They were battered and filthy and surmounted by greasy, khaki puttees. After a while one of them swung forward and dug into his ribs. He groaned suddenly as pain knifed into him and his vision blurred slightly. He lay in the dirt, fighting for breath, and watched the boots walk across the floor, kick open a door, and disappear. After a minute he felt a little better and dragged himself up into a sitting position.
He was in one corner of a crude hut with clay-daubed walls and an earthen floor. The stench was indescribable, and when his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he saw that in another corner was a pile of human dung and nearby lay two men. There was a crack in the wall behind him and he pulled himself painfully to his feet and examined his condition.
One side of his skull was badly swollen, the hair matted and sticky with congealed blood. His groping hand scattered a cloud of flies and a shudder ran through him. He gently flexed his muscles and swung his arms, stifling a cry as pain swept through him from the bruise left by that boot in the ribs. He crossed the floor to examine his fellow-prisoners. Nausea flooded through him and he swayed and groped at the wall, but after a moment his senses returned and he knelt down to examine the two men.
They were two of the villagers, both dead. From the looks of it, they had been terribly beaten and thrown into the hut without medical attention of any kind. A cloud of flies lifted from one of the bodies and Hagen turned his head away and vomited. He staggered to his feet and lurched over to the other side of the hut and sat down. The sanitary conditions were an indication not only of the standards of the Chinese soldiery, but also of their stupidity. He reflected that