Holtz could not bear to look at him any longer. He went back on hands and knees to the gun. He wondered where Dedos was. There was no sign of him behind the barrel. He lay flat, his hands on the firing lever, waiting.
There was a long silence and then, cautiously, from behind a tree one of the patrol appeared. He stood looking up at the farmhouse, his long, automatic rifle held stiffly at the ready. Before Holtz could fire at him, a rifle barked just beneath and the patrolman staggered back behind the tree. Holtz was fairly certain that he had been hit.
So Dedos was still alive, he thought with satisfaction. He had managed to get as far as the farmhouse. Perhaps he would get inside. He dare not go down to let him in. Any moment Pablo’s men might try to rush the house.
Again a grenade was thrown. This time it was obvious to Holtz that it was aimed at Dedos below. Holtz heard his yell of terror as the grenade exploded, and the whole house trembled with the force of the explosion.
Holtz fired a furious burst through the thicket and then shouted down to Dedos, but no one answered him. “I think they have Dedos too,” he said to Castra. “It is well that Pablo’s army didn’t attack in the first place. These men are very good.”
Castra didn’t hear him. He had died very quietly just before the grenade had exploded. Holtz turned his head to look at him, and as he realized that Castra was dead the sound of something falling at his feet made him jerk round.
A long, black grenade lay close by him. It had been very skilfully thrown through the hole in the shutter and now it lay there within a few feet of him. He had no time to flatten out or make any effort to protect himself. The word ‘Nina’ came to his lips, but he hadn’t time to say the word before the grenade exploded.
He was conscious of a bright yellow flash and a lot of noise. Then he sat up on his elbow and stared at the Lewis gun that had fallen over on its side again. He had been thrown right across the room and his hand rested on the spongy pulp that had been Castra’s face. Shuddering, he jerked his hand away and tried to get to his feet. As he moved, a wave of pain lurched into him, cutting his breath and bringing a scream fluttering in his mouth.
He held himself very still. Down the front of his tunic he could see a number of blood-stained little holes and he knew that his chest had been riddled with small splinters of shrapnel.
He lay on his elbow, waiting for the pain to go away. As he lay, he said in a low, sobbing whisper, “Look what they have done to me, Nina.” Then, because he was alone, hurt and rather frightened, he began to call to Nina as if she could hear him.