We must rise—and never more reluctant from a lover’s bed. A red cross is drawn on a map and we must go there. The sky is grey and the jungle crouches, bland and waiting. The wet drips incessantly, implacably, imperturbably from the leaf—charting the passage of eternity. Pez and Janos crouch against the bole of a tree and talk it over. They crouch on their haunches, crouch on their toes—ready. They do not look at each other—they watch the jungle. They whisper from the corners of their mouths. The rifle and the Owen are held loosely in their hands—ready. ‘They might open with mortars,’ insists Pez. ‘It’d be a hell of a thing to walk into your own mortars.’ ‘They won’t,’ says Janos. ‘They’d wait for us to call for them—and we’ve got no line back across the river. They know we’re here somewhere. They wouldn’t use mortars unless we called for them. We’ve got to get that gun.’ ‘They might just open up.’ ‘The longer we wait the less chance we’ve got!’ ‘Where do you reckon the gun is?’ ‘About three or four hundred yards down—can’t be far from the bank.’ ‘They might be strong.’ ‘Probably just a gun crew.’ ‘They’ll know we’re here.’ ‘We know they’re there.’ ‘Wait a while—we might get mortar support.’ ‘If it doesn’t come in thirty seconds, it won’t come till we call,’ says Janos.
What do You think about The Long Green Shore (2014)?
