The Dark of the Sun
Wilbur A. Smith
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The Congo. Situated at the heart of sub-Saharan Africa, it is a place where men die for diamonds. For love. And for the unholy pleasure of others...
Bruce Curry is the leader of a mercenary band with the dubious support of three officers. His mission: To relieve a diamond-mining town cut off by the fighting and retrieve a priceless consignment of diamonds. Along the way, he meets a beautiful Belgian woman. Shermaine is a dream come true. But the rest of Curry's journey is about to become a living nightmare.
Ranged against his ill-disciplined unit are bandits, guerrillas, and hostile tribes that infest the land. In a sinister atmosphere of omnipotent evil, Curry fights to stay alive—and protect Shermaine, his one true love. But to do so, he must face another, even deadlier enemy: one of his own men...
Junction. That should be easy. And then – God knows, God alone knows. The tracks curved, and Bruce looked back to see the last white-washed buildings of Elisabethville disappear among the trees. They were out into the open savannah forest. Behind them the black smoke from the loco rolled sideways into the trees; beneath them the crossties clattered in strict rhythm, and ahead the line ran arrow straight for miles, dwindling with perspective until it merged into the olive-green mass of the
from the shock of the leopard. I truly squirted myself full of adrenalin that time, Bruce grinned precariously in the dark, I’m as windy as hell. And before tonight is over I shall find fear again. They moved on up the incline of the hills, a serpent of twenty-six men, and the tension was in all of them. Bruce could hear it in the footsteps behind him, feel it in the grip of the hand upon his shoulder and catch it in the occasional whiffs of body smell that came forward to him, the smell of
her mouth suddenly and one of his fingers went in between her teeth. She bit with all her strength and felt the skin break and tasted blood in her mouth. ‘You bitch!’ Hendry jerked his hand away and she opened her mouth to scream, but the hand swung back, clenched, into the side of her face, knocking her head across. The scream never reached her lips for he hit her again and she felt herself falling. Stunned by the blows, lying in the sand, she could not believe it was happening, until she felt
The walls were painted a depressing utility green, loose paper was scattered on the floor, the drawers of the single desk hung open, and a thin grey skin of dust coated everything. ‘There she is,’ said Ruffy and pointed to the brass and varnished wood complexity of the telegraph on a table against the far wall. ‘Looks all right,’ said Bruce. ‘As long as the lines haven’t been cut.’ As if to reassure him, the telegraph began to clatter like a typewriter. ‘Thank God for that,’ sighed Bruce.
bastard’s forgotten about us,’ grumbled Ruffy and went to the Ford to fetch the beer crate. Bruce fidgeted restlessly on the unpadded chair beside the telegraph table. He reconsidered anxiously all his previous arguments for leaving Wally Hendry in charge of the camp, but once again decided that it was safe. He couldn’t do much harm. Unless, unless, Shermaine! No, it was impossible. Not with forty loyal gendarmes to protect her. He started to think about Shermaine and the future. There was a