Solo

gun.
    Bond could see that his ally ‘confusion’ was already contributing to this firefight. The advancing troops had already slowed, disoriented by this barrage of harmless explosions to their rear. Breed, on Bond’s instructions, was also firing at the rear of the troops’ advance, raking the causeway with his heavy-calibre bullets, chewing up great gouts of earth and dust. More bombs exploded as the mortars kept up their rate of fire.
    ‘OK. Turn the gun on the rear ranks.’
    Breed swivelled the gun and worked the bullet impacts closer to the shifting static mass of Zanzari soldiers. One or two of them were cut down. Others flung themselves in the swamp. There was a collective race to get off the causeway as the troops desperately began to search for cover from this baffling assault from behind.
    The irrigation ditch lay there invitingly. The perfect place to keep your head down. Men began to pour and slither into the security its depth provided.
    Further up the track Bond could hear firing and explosions as the Saracen was engaged. The irrigation ditch was packed with cowering men as Breed kept up his fire, hosing bullets along the ditch’s edge. Now, Bond thought, all we need is ‘Adeka’s Answer’.
    The first of the bucket bombs exploded and Bond felt the shockwave even up on the bluff. That detonation set off a chain reaction and the others exploded in a Chinese firecracker of eruptions along the irrigation ditch.
    ‘Breed – get your boys across the causeway and into the village.’
    Bond didn’t want to think about what had happened in the ditch. He could hear the screams of wounded men and a great billowing pall of smoke and dust obscured the view.
    On Breed’s signal – a green flare – the Dahumians in the forest began to stream across the causeway towards Kololo village. There was some sporadic firing as they advanced but the debacle on the far side of the causeway must have been very visible to whatever troops had remained behind.
    Breed was on his feet with the binoculars.
    ‘Yes, they’re running away,’ he said. ‘True to form. Big bunch of girls.’
    Bond looked down at the irrigation ditch as the smoke cleared. Stunned and wounded soldiers were staggering and crawling out of it, being rounded up by Breed’s men.
    ‘Don’t kill them,’ Bond said. ‘A nice large group of prisoners might be a useful bargaining chip, one day.’
    ‘Whatever you say, Mr Bond,’ Breed chuckled, wiping his eye on his cuff, and then looking at him with something that might just have been respect, Bond thought. Score one for the Agence Presse Libre.
    ‘Remember my condition,’ Bond said. ‘Remember your promise. I got you back into Kololo – so get me to Adeka.’

·15·
     

GOLD STAR
     
    Bond sat in the bar of the Press Centre, drinking his second whisky and soda, his mind full of the battle that he’d directed and won. One hundred and eighty-two prisoners had been captured and the Dahum army was back in Kololo, dug in and secure in its fortified bunkers. Breed had been exultant and had promised him a face-to-face meeting with Adeka within twenty-four hours. If that were the outcome then a momentary reverse in the Zanza Force advance would have been well worth it. There was every chance that the larger objective might be achieved.
Reculer pour mieux sauter
, indeed.
    To be honest, Bond had to admit that he hadn’t thought much about what he was doing once the urgency of the situation was apparent and the beautiful clarity of his plan had seized him. All that had concerned him was how best to execute it. And it had been incredibly exciting: the gratification of seeing mental concepts vindicated so completely in a small but classic wartime encounter between infantry units – one so skilfully turning defence into attack and eventual victory. The Battle of the Kololo Causeway could be usefully taught at military academies, he thought, with a little justified pride.
    Digby Breadalbane came diffidently into the bar, saw Bond and strode over and sat down – looking for a free drink.
    ‘How was your day, James?’ he asked.
    ‘More intriguing than I expected, Digby,’ Bond said, circumspectly, and offered to buy him a beer.
    Breadalbane seemed chirpier than usual as he sipped his beer, foregoing his usual litany of moans and complaints.
    ‘How long do you think this war will last?’ he asked.
    ‘Who knows?’ Bond shrugged.
    ‘I mean, it’s not going to end next week.’
    ‘You never