The Ambush

Twenty yards. The two figures at the rear were closer now. The first carried a pistol, and some grenades in pouches on his shirt. The uniform and hat were Khaki, slight build, probably young. The last was in nondescript muddy black, unarmed. The leader was no more than fifteen yards away when I began to fire. As the gun opened up, so the rifles and machine-guns to my left and right. The silence was exploded by the ram and smash of the sten and rifles, and hammering of machine guns. The lash of their sound beat at the walls of the forest so that the path danced and shuddered in wind of enraged metal, and the three on the track were down, unheard if they cried out, helpless, flailed flat by the pulverizing bursts of the machine guns and savaged by the raking fire of the automatics that sought them where they lay.

I stopped firing, flicked the change lever to safe, got up on my knees, cupped my hands to my mouth and yelled, "Stop."

The riflemen immediately ran down and started heaping packs, weapons, ammunition and papers before me. I was examining the last of the pack and wondering if I saw something familiar when the platoon commander walked up from below, saluted and came to attention by my side.

"Well done," I said. The JCO grinned.

"We have done it. Tonight we go back," I continued.

The JCO stretched his right arm and said, "One was a woman, wearing this on the neck."

I looked at the soldier's palm. It was a gold chain, familiar, with the Cross broken..........