deep. No running, though. Keep faith, Leckie.
I struggled not to understand, but I knew right enough what he was referring to. I sat staring sightlessly over my tea out at the crowded pavements. The whole lot vanished. I was in a hot, sweaty, hilly land and frightened out of my skin.
Leckie had been an explosives man in the army. Though I was a gunner – so they told me – I was put on a job with him and four other soldiers.
A railway ran perilously high across this plateau, over two gorges, on spindly trellis bridges made of bamboo. Even to think of it now gives me heartburn. We climbed on to the ridge among the vegetation. It had taken us four days to reach. From there we could see the first gorge and the rickety bridge swooping into the tunnel opposite. We saw a hoop of distant light in the blackness where the railway emerged from the hill on the far side. I’d never been so scared in all my life, but Leckie just gave one glance at the scene and stood up, not even using his field-glasses. ‘Should be all right, chaps,’ he said, and strolled down.
That was Leckie all over. With my scalp prickling I stumbled after him. The corporal carrying the radio transmitter was immediately behind, the three yokels to the rear making more bloody racket than a football match. At least I was always quiet in the jungle, more from terror than training. I never did find out how Leckie’s sixth sense worked. Other times he’d give the same quick glance, then signal for us to lay low. I’d never even see the sniper till our riflemen got going. This time he was right again, of course. He strolled across the creaking bridge into the tunnel, while I tried not to look down at the river gorge a trillion miles below.
‘We blow the tunnel, chaps,’ Leckie informed us as if announcing a rather dull menu. We hadn’t known till then.
This we tried to do, only the side walls had some concealed internal buttresses made of concrete. We only saw them after our first small explosive charge revealed them among the settling dust. It was a clear mistake, probably unavoidable, but Leckie felt bad about it, especially as he knew we were all petrified.The echoes were still reverberating round the chasm, and the bridge behind us was creaking like an old floorboard.
‘Sorry about that, chaps.’ Leckie was casual as ever, always casual. ‘It needs a second go.’
We looked at each other. Leckie was amused.
‘My turn,’ he said apologetically. ‘Sorry, but I insist.’
It should have been me, but I could hardly stand upright from fright. I’d have run like hell except they’d have shot me for desertion.
That’s when the tunnel began its noises. Our first explosion must have weakened the mountain’s innards. Have you ever been
under
a mountain, especially one that has half a mind to crumple? It complains, whines, groans, even hums and hisses, full of noises. I’d heard one old geezer from our street talk about it when I was a kid. He’d got out of the Pretoria pit disaster as a young miner. Luckily his dad, also a miner, had told him how to listen to the rock on his first day and he’d made it back to the surface. ‘The sound of the rock’s breathing changed,’ this geezer explained to me years later. I’d always thought him daft. Until our first explosion the tunnel had seemed empty, quiet. Now it crackled and twanged as the mountain above shifted uneasily. The lads began to back off, but Leckie only struck a match to light a cigarette. His sudden action made me jump a mile.
‘Er, isn’t it going to cave in, er, anyway?’ I croaked, my voice an octave higher than normal.
‘Possibly.’ Leckie smiled. ‘But possibly is also possibly not.’
We got his point. If the tunnel didn’t crumple, a few of their side’s diehards could clear the debris and shore it up in a few hours. Risky, but simple.
‘What about blowing the bridge instead?’ I suggested helpfully. Leckie laughed and wagged a finger.
‘That’s a different
I struggled not to understand, but I knew right enough what he was referring to. I sat staring sightlessly over my tea out at the crowded pavements. The whole lot vanished. I was in a hot, sweaty, hilly land and frightened out of my skin.
Leckie had been an explosives man in the army. Though I was a gunner – so they told me – I was put on a job with him and four other soldiers.
A railway ran perilously high across this plateau, over two gorges, on spindly trellis bridges made of bamboo. Even to think of it now gives me heartburn. We climbed on to the ridge among the vegetation. It had taken us four days to reach. From there we could see the first gorge and the rickety bridge swooping into the tunnel opposite. We saw a hoop of distant light in the blackness where the railway emerged from the hill on the far side. I’d never been so scared in all my life, but Leckie just gave one glance at the scene and stood up, not even using his field-glasses. ‘Should be all right, chaps,’ he said, and strolled down.
That was Leckie all over. With my scalp prickling I stumbled after him. The corporal carrying the radio transmitter was immediately behind, the three yokels to the rear making more bloody racket than a football match. At least I was always quiet in the jungle, more from terror than training. I never did find out how Leckie’s sixth sense worked. Other times he’d give the same quick glance, then signal for us to lay low. I’d never even see the sniper till our riflemen got going. This time he was right again, of course. He strolled across the creaking bridge into the tunnel, while I tried not to look down at the river gorge a trillion miles below.
‘We blow the tunnel, chaps,’ Leckie informed us as if announcing a rather dull menu. We hadn’t known till then.
This we tried to do, only the side walls had some concealed internal buttresses made of concrete. We only saw them after our first small explosive charge revealed them among the settling dust. It was a clear mistake, probably unavoidable, but Leckie felt bad about it, especially as he knew we were all petrified.The echoes were still reverberating round the chasm, and the bridge behind us was creaking like an old floorboard.
‘Sorry about that, chaps.’ Leckie was casual as ever, always casual. ‘It needs a second go.’
We looked at each other. Leckie was amused.
‘My turn,’ he said apologetically. ‘Sorry, but I insist.’
It should have been me, but I could hardly stand upright from fright. I’d have run like hell except they’d have shot me for desertion.
That’s when the tunnel began its noises. Our first explosion must have weakened the mountain’s innards. Have you ever been
under
a mountain, especially one that has half a mind to crumple? It complains, whines, groans, even hums and hisses, full of noises. I’d heard one old geezer from our street talk about it when I was a kid. He’d got out of the Pretoria pit disaster as a young miner. Luckily his dad, also a miner, had told him how to listen to the rock on his first day and he’d made it back to the surface. ‘The sound of the rock’s breathing changed,’ this geezer explained to me years later. I’d always thought him daft. Until our first explosion the tunnel had seemed empty, quiet. Now it crackled and twanged as the mountain above shifted uneasily. The lads began to back off, but Leckie only struck a match to light a cigarette. His sudden action made me jump a mile.
‘Er, isn’t it going to cave in, er, anyway?’ I croaked, my voice an octave higher than normal.
‘Possibly.’ Leckie smiled. ‘But possibly is also possibly not.’
We got his point. If the tunnel didn’t crumple, a few of their side’s diehards could clear the debris and shore it up in a few hours. Risky, but simple.
‘What about blowing the bridge instead?’ I suggested helpfully. Leckie laughed and wagged a finger.
‘That’s a different
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