said matter-of-factly. “And letting them ‘escape’ is the best way I know to spread the word quickly among other Simbas that when this group went on a cattle-stealing expedition, the Armée Congolaise found them, killed the men, and did not allow the cattle to fall into Simba hands.”
Ten minutes later, with the permission of Major Tomas, Sergeant First Jette selected the half-dozen shooters they would take with them to the far side of the Simba encampment.
His instructions to them were simple:
“You will follow Major Tomas. I will bring up the rear. I will shoot any man who fires his weapon before either Major Tomas fires his or I fire mine. And I will shoot any man I even suspect is thinking of going into the bush.”
Forty minutes after that, Thomas found a comfortable position behind a fallen tree and called Lieutenant Colonel Coizi to report they were in position.
“Very well,” Coizi replied.
Two minutes later, there was the sound of one, or perhaps two, automatic rifles being fired, and then silence. There was no way of telling whether the weapons were in the hands of Coizi’s men or the Simbas.
Two minutes after that, there was the sound of cattle moving, and shortly after that, two women appeared goading a milk cow down the path. More women and two other cows appeared shortly thereafter.
Thomas could see Jette, who had taken up a position much like his, prone behind a fallen tree thick enough and high enough to provide protection against rifle fire. When he looked now, Thomas saw that Jette was taking aim with his rifle, and he flicked the lever from SAFE to SINGLE SHOT and rested his left hand on the tree trunk as he waited for a suitable target to appear.
Two suitable targets appeared, male, armed Simbas, the second of them carrying a sword as well as an FN rifle.
Thomas decided he would take whichever one of the targets remained after Jette had taken the first shot. Since Jette would almost certainly take the first male, armed Simba, Thomas took a sight picture on the chest of the Simba with the sword.
When he heard the sound of a single shot from Jette’s 7-mm rifle, Thomas squeezed the trigger of the Colt Car-16. The sword-bearing Simba dropped his rifle, looked at his chest in surprise, and then fell forward on his face.
When Thomas raised his head from the stock, he was surprised to see the first Simba running toward him as fast as he could run. He lowered his head, quickly got another sight picture, and fired. It was a hasty shot, and his aim was a little off. The bullet struck the Simba on the left shoulder, which caused him to turn to the left before falling down. Thomas hit him again before he was on the ground.
He was surprised that Jette had missed him; he had naturally presumed the Congolese noncom could take a man-sized target at no more than fifty, sixty yards.
Then he saw that the milk cow had fallen forward onto its front legs, and that its head was bloody. The women who had been goading it were nowhere in sight, although there was the sound of something crashing through the brush.
The second cow and its goaders were having trouble getting past the fallen cow. Jette’s rifle fired again, and the second cow staggered and then fell on its side. Its goaders, both women, ran full tilt back up the path.
There was a third shot from Jette’s rifle. Thomas couldn’t see either man or beast, but it seemed safe to assume Jette had taken out the third cow.
Then, for several minutes, aside from a faint and diminishing rustling in the bush, there was silence.
Then there was a fusillade of fire, including what to Thomas’s ears sounded like the ripping sound of a 9-mm Uzi machine pistol.
A minute or two after that, women—ten in all—came running down the trail, singly and in pairs.
Then there came the sphincter-tightening sound a rifle projectile makes when passing within feet of one’s head. And then, immediately, two more such sounds.
“Shit,” Thomas said, and slid backward to take advantage of the protection the tree trunk offered.
Here lies Master Sergeant William Thomas, killed by friendly African fire.
You can take a look, asshole. Nobody’s shooting at you. That fire came from some idiot who wasn’t paying attention when Colonel Coizi said, “Don’t shoot down the path; we have people there.”
He slid sideward behind the trunk until he reached the base of the tree, which