coming, many of them without their equipment, stumbling in their haste
and looking back over their shoulders. Most of them avoided the mouth
of the ravine and hurried by to the left or right, but one little clump,
eight or ten, came up the dry stream-bed, and stopped a hundred and
fifty yards from his hiding-place to make a stand. They were Hindus,
with outsize helmets over their turbans. Two of them came ahead,
carrying a machine gun, followed by a third with a flame-thrower; the
others retreated more slowly, firing their rifles to delay pursuit.

* * * * *

Cuddling the stock of his carbine to his cheek, he divided a ten-shot
burst between the two machine-gunners, then, as a matter of principle,
he shot the man with the flame-thrower. He had a dislike for
flame-throwers; he killed every enemy he found with one. The others
dropped their rifles and raised their hands, screaming: "Hey, Joe! Hey,
Joe! You no shoot, me no shoot!"

A dozen men in UN battledress came up and took them prisoner. Benson
shouted to them, and then rose and came down to join them. They were
British--Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders, advertising the fact by
inconspicuous bits of tartan on their uniforms. The subaltern in command
looked at him and nodded.

"Captain Benson? We were warned to be on watch for your patrol," he
said. "Any of the rest of you lads get out?"

Benson shrugged. "We split up after the attack. You may run into a
couple of them. Some are locals and don't speak very good English. I've
got to get back to Division, myself; what's the best way?"