enemy would be exposed for the time it took them to cross it. During any such charge that the Neravistas might make the rebels hoped to kill as many of them as possible.
The line of Neravistas advanced ever closer through the forest, which for some meant hacking a path through it with machetes. Their commanders could be heard shouting at those who were too slow to speed up and at those who were getting too far ahead to hold their positions and keep the line.
The rebels brought their guns into their shoulders, adjusted the sights for close range, checked the positioning of their spare magazines - and moistened their dry lips.
Stratton was waiting for the battle to get started before he headed for the perimeter. It was the only way to avoid getting cut down by the rebel volleys. Another line of Neravistas appeared, running up the track, forty or fifty of them. They stopped to form up in several short lines, one behind the other, and the officers quickly ordered them to advance, one after the other, with a few metres’ gap in between each line.
‘That’s our way in,’ Stratton said.
‘Why is that?’ Victor asked.
‘Those men are extra support to ensure they punch a hole through the perimeter at that point. They’ll be doing that all along the line.’
Stratton made his way forward, keeping low, gauging his distance so as not to get too close. Victor followed. Unusually for them, the Indians brought up the rear.
Every rebel squatted behind his defensive position with his stare fixed on the foliage at the opposite side of the beaten zone. They could hear the Neravistas’ progress and expected them to break through and charge at any second. Then it would be the rebels’ turn to do some killing. The need to deliver a power ful blow at this point was paramount. ‘Kill a dozen each and we win’ were the words handed along the line.
Men fixed bayonets, tightened fingers on triggers and blinked their eyes behind rifle sights, waiting for a man to shoot and then move on to the next.
The rebels had placed M60 machine guns at intervals along the line, their ammunition belts laid out for quick usage, ammo boxes open around gunners and loaders.
Suddenly the Neravistas went silent, the sounds of their advance fading away. The government forces had stopped.
The tension soared.
‘They’re waiting to charge,’ a rebel commander whispered to the men either side of him. ‘Wait for them.’ The words were passed down the line.
Beads of sweat rolled down faces. Trigger fingers quivered. Breathing was ragged.
A rebel turned his head to one side, vomited and quickly turned back without wiping his mouth to look through his rifle sights.
Another urinated in his pants without taking his stare from the killing zone.
The Neravistas’ front line stood still in the forest, their comrades in the next wave kneeling a few metres behind them. They could see the rebel perimeter beyond the sunlit gap they had to cross. It was difficult to see the rebels themselves in the relative shade of their positions but occasional movements reminded the government soldiers that they were there and waiting for them. Few had really believed their officers who had tried to convince them that the artillery bombardment would kill most of the enemy.
Those Neravistas in the front line were the most scared. They were the ones who would step into the light first. But they had one weapon to aid them, to give them some confidence, a surprise for the rebels that, as their officers had insisted, if they could use it to full advantage would mean they could make it to the rebel positions without a scratch.
A Neravista officer made his way along the rear of the lines, ducking between branches and over logs as he reassured the men. ‘The grenades will clear the way,’ he reminded them. ‘Let your grenades do the work. They will clear what is left of the rebel line.’
Each man in the front line held a grenade tightly in one hand, his gun in the other. They had already pulled the rings and were holding the striker levers against the grenades’ casings, ready for the order to throw.
A rebel veteran saw the foliage opposite him move. He knew the Neravistas were there, waiting for the order to charge. He saw something beyond the outer branches, a pair of legs in camouflage clothing. He pulled his rifle tightly against his shoulder and rested his finger on the trigger as he