The Bridge

     The sound of gunfire suddenly ceased but the horses that had not bolted still pranced or milled about, neighing in terror. The khaki figures lay still, sprawled or huddled in the red sand, as the clouds of dust that had been thrown up by the grenades began to slowly thin. The armed commandos
emerged from the shelter of the tumbled rocks on each side of the kloor and cautiously approached the fallen soldiers.

     A huge bald-headed man, with a barrel-chest and massive shoulders shouted, "Shoot any that are still alive and don't use your bayonets because I want to strip off any uniforms that are not covered in blood and guts." The older man beside him glanced up with a look of distate, before he called for  a couple of men to round up the horses and collect the discarded weapons. Then he watched the big man and the other commandos strip the dead soldiers. The Boer forces were desparately short of uniforms and other basic clothing. Suddenly he heard a groan and spun round, gun raised.

     Three men lay together among the rocks, a khaki tangle of limbs. The big man straightened up and took a step towards them before the commander shouted, It's all right Kotze, I'll take care of this.
You carry on." For a second he thought that Kotze would disobey him, but after a moment's hesitation
the big man carried on rifling through the pockets of a pair of khaki breeches.

The soldier groaned again. He lay half across the body of another man wearing corporal's stripes. He was blond, in his early twenties, the commander guessed, and wore the ubiquitous cavalry moustache. Sprawled on top of him was a very large soldier with the stripes of a sergeant on his arms,
and it seemed to the commander that he'd been shielding the younger man with his body. The commander lifted the sergeant off the blond trooper and lowered him gently on to his back. He placed his hand on the side of the sergeant's bull-neck and his eyes flickered open. "Quickly someone, bring me some water," he shouted.

     As he waited for the water, the commander ran his eyes over the powerful muscular body. There
were no bullet wounds and it seemed, from the cuts and bruises, that he must have caught the blast of a grenade. A young boer appeared beside him and the commander lifted the sergeant into a sitting position before pressiong the canteen of water to his lips. The vacant look faded from the sergeant's black eyes and pushing the canteen away, he said in a voice little more than a croak. "Thanks I'm all right now, how's the lad?" They turned to the blond trooper who was now sitting up with his head
hanging between his raised knees. He straightened up and said, "A bit dizzy sarge and my ears are
still ringing."
"My God, so are mine," said a deep voice behind him the third soldier, the lean corporal sat up.