The Black Rhino

An engineer meets up with an angry rhino in Sumatra

An excerpt from Book 7 in the Flag series. Flag McAndrew is currently (1971) based in Palembang, capital of the province of South Sumatra in Indonesia. The Van Daal Oil Co also features. At this point he’s travelling ‘up country’ to try and find rock for his roads.

 

The Black Rhino

 

     They were ready to attempt the bridge crossing by half past nine. Most of the replacement timbers were tied rather than bolted, for the simple reason that there were no bolts of the right size available. Most of the old ones had been cut because the nuts were rusted on.

 

Flag was sure the timbers would stay where they were for him, laterally. But in order not to subject them to fore and aft displacement, he decided to cross on the Land Rover winch. This had added advantages in any case, even if the timbers had been bolted. Firstly, the winch could continue to pull him forward if one of the cross beams gave way, and the wheels had no traction to get him out of trouble. Secondly, by crossing one pier at a time, with the winch rope anchored two piers ahead, the Land Rover would always be lighter by at least half the weight of the winch rope - and every little bit helped.

 

     Most of the crowd had stayed to watch, and they were taking on a carnival air. Hawkers were doing the rounds with trays of food, or tubs of cooked rice and titbits balanced on bicycles. One enterprising man had a pedal trishaw converted to a mobile stall, so he could set up wherever he chose. Even the soldiers at the guard post joined in the holiday atmosphere.

 

     One grizzled old man in particular caught Flag's attention. He had a heavy tray suspended from his neck. Beneath the tray, his legs were about as bowed as they could be without collapsing sideways.

     "What's the old fellow selling, Shak Choy?"

     "Roast chicken, Mr.McAndrew. Probably fingerlickin' good too," answered Shak Choy with a grin. "The word he's shouting is 'ayam' - Ondenose for chicken."

 

     "Want to hear a bilingual joke?" asked Flag.

     "Okay" was the one word answer.

     Flag waved to the old man, who scampered across to him, showing a toothless smile. Flag pointed at the tray.

     "Who's a silly old bugger then?" he asked.

     Back came the answer he had expected.

     "Ayam, ayam" said the old man. Shak Choy burst out laughing, and the old man joined in, with a puzzled look.

 

     "We'd better buy a couple of pieces" said Flag, handing Shak Choy some money, and salving his conscience.

     The chicken was surprisingly tasty, and was soon finished. Now it was time to get serious about crossing the damned bridge. Shak Choy had volunteered to do the driving, but Flag would have none of it.

 

     "I need you to stay ahead and make sure the winch rope is anchored really well. Loop it round both girders, and tie it back on itself with a shackle" he told Shak. The soldiers unlocked the posts that had been chained and padlocked across the bridge abutment to stop unauthorised vehicles. Flag inched forward onto the pier, careful to line up between the longitudinal girders.

 

     Shak Choy and two of his men pulled the winch rope forward to beyond the third pier, where the locals climbed over the edge, to pass the rope beneath the girders on the far side. Shak Choy

made sure they had enough slack, and instructed them from above.

 

There was a muffled shout, followed by a splash. One of the labourers had fallen off the bridge. Flag jumped from the Rover and peered over the rail. A head appeared in the water, and the man swam a few strokes before wading the rest of the way to the bank. Shak Choy had run back to the Land Rover, and now made his way down to meet the involuntary swimmer, who seemed none the worse for his experience. The crowd cheered him out of the water.

 

     "Is he okay?" asked Flag.

     "He says no problem, he needed a bath anyway. But could you pay them an extra hundred rupiahs wet money?"

     "Sure can" replied Flag, with a grin of relief.

 

     Shak Choy and his damp helper went back to work, and soon had the rope secure. Shak stood erect and crossed his arms above his head. Flag slowly winched in the slack in low gear. When it was taut, he changed the winch into high gear, and released the Rover's handbrake. It moved forward at about 3mph, while Flag kept his eyes on Shak Choy. He steered as close as he could judge to the middle of the roadway. If he strayed much to either side, Shak Choy would signal by raising the arm on that side. The higher the arm, the farther he was off centre. Both arms down by the sides meant he was on line. It was simple and effective.

 

     There were a few groans from beneath the Rover, but he was soon above the first pier. He rested there while Shak and his boys took the winch rope forward one more pier. Then they repeated the process. There were eight such spans to cross. Progress was good, and by the time he had passed the halfway mark, Flag was confident the worst was over. Then the cross beam under the back wheels collapsed. There was a communal groan from the Parit Cheer Squad, even though this was what they really came to see.

 

     Flag felt the lurch, and his heart jumped. He kept his foot hard down on the throttle as the timber bent downwards. There was a splintering noise, and the back of the Rover began falling

sideways to the right, as the front rose up. The plank under the right hand wheels was breaking. Its rear had been attached to the cross beam that had gone. Now, prior to snapping completely, it was seesawing on the next cross beam, and the rope on the forward end, attaching it to the third beam, had snapped. Flag held his breath and kept the throttle hard down, as he felt a distinct sensation of floating through the air. He could jump or stay; he decided to stay.

 

     The Rover continued moving forward, and as it passed the point of balance, Flag released the winch clutch. The nose came gently down, and the forward end of the plank remade contact with

the beam ahead. The Cheer Squad roared. He quickly re-engaged the winch, and moved forward again - just as the plank snapped under the back wheel. Down went the rear once more. But this time the chassis struck the intermediate beam, where the plank had broken off clean. He held the steering straight, to the accompaniment of squeals and groans from underneath. He hoped there was no serious damage. Then the wheel was pulled up and over, and he was nearly back on line. He adjusted to the left in response to Shak Choy's arm signal.

 

     That was the only problem on the crossing; but it was more than enough for Flag, who counted himself lucky. The crowd gave one big final cheer when he safely reached the far bank. He waved to them before telling Shak Choy in no uncertain terms that they would have to find an alternative route home. No way was he going back over that bloody bridge, even if it meant an extra fifty miles via Perabumuli. Always provided they could find a way. They checked underneath the Land Rover for damage, and were relieved to find nothing broken.

 

     There were forty kilometers ahead of them before they would reach the first large village in the Batu Raja catchment area. For the first ten kilometers there would be people, gradually thinning out. Then they would hit fifteen kilometers of dead country, where the tracks were rough and narrow - and not many of them.

 

     According to Shak Choy, the people of Parit called it 'sour land', where nothing worthwhile would grow. Therefore it was almost deserted, except for small groups of hunters and travellers. Nobody went into that country alone and unarmed. It held the most tigers in all Sumatra, they said. Also, many black rhinos and elephants.

 

     The bus owner had offered the services of his younger son as a guide, but they had declined with thanks. Mostly because they didn't want to return this way. However, Shak Choy had written

down as much as he could of what was known. Maps meant nothing to these people, so Shak Choy concentrated on directions and landmarks. He translated the most definite of them as well as he could onto the map.

   

     The first few kilometers were much as before. Then the cultivation, and the people, began to thin out. Soon they were on their own, and the road had degenerated. It was now no more than a narrow track, between walls of high grass, closing in. It looked positively dangerous to Flag. This was real tiger country if ever he saw it - which he hadn't much, up to date. But he could just imagine a tiger springing from the grass, having been hidden until they were within feet of it. The thought sent a shiver up his spine - he came here as an engineer, not a bloody big game hunter, for God's sake.

 

     The ordinary grass was nearly as high as his head, with huge clumps of elephant grass - elephant grass, think of another name - more than twelve feet high; interspersed with bunches of scrub, huddled together for protection against the grasses. There were only occasional stunted trees, which had survived against the odds.

 

     Enough of the nightmares already. Flag told Shak Choy to stop, and checked the shotgun was loaded with heavy shot for the first round. Slapping a magazine into the SLR he cocked it, ramming a round up the spout, then setting the safety. A flick of the thumb would release it if he had to use the rifle. Meanwhile it was safe to handle.

 

     "I think we'd better roll back the canvas above our heads also" he said to Shak.

     They rolled the canvas back, and secured it on the first metal hoop behind the front seats. Flag could now stand up and shoot over the top of the windscreen and door if necessary. He put on his floppy hat, and stood on the seat for a better view.

He could now see well over the top of the grass, and what he saw explained why the country was as it was. Behind the Rover, and stretching off to both sides in a curve, was the jungle. The line came round to parallel their course on the left, at a distance of about three kilometers. That was probably the line of the Mudi River, as he knew it wasn't far away now.

 

     To the right of their line of advance, the jungle almost disappeared in the distance, before swinging back round towards the forward horizon. Climbing onto the top of the seat back, Flag

could just discern a thin dark line on the horizon ahead. They were heading through a natural closed depression, that must be almost dead level for the whole of its circumference. In the Wet, the whole area would be submerged under several feet of water, before spilling over.

 

     That explained the smell of decay about the place. It was swamp country, with a few feet of rotting vegetation sitting on top of impervious clay - he knew it without having to check. Flag

thought he would have to tell the FAO men about this. A proper large-scale drainage/irrigation plan could turn the whole depression into rich rice or plantation country - and there was well

over a hundred square kilometers of it. He was surprised the Dutch hadn't got around to it in their long time here. But they probably couldn't get around to everything, and the easiest land made the quickest profits as far as they were concerned.

 

     The Land Rover bumped and swayed along the narrow, rutted track. Most of the way the grass was brushing both sides at the same time, and Flag was justifiably apprehensive. Now he stood up, holding the top of the windscreen with one hand, shotgun in the other. He wouldn't like anyone to know, but he was petrified at the thought of meeting a tiger. How would he react? Would he be quick enough - and accurate enough? Just so long as he didn't panic; that would be the pits.

 

     Ahead, and to the sides, he could see no sign of life, but that meant nothing. He couldn't see anything behind, because of their dust. By the time they reached the middle of the depression, the heat was more oppressive than Flag had thought possible  - even the Libyan desert hadn't been this bad.  The grass moved, to the left of the track. Before he could even finish shouting a warning to Shak Choy, a large dark shape collided with the Land Rover. There was a resounding crash, and the Rover shook as its left wheels almost took to the air. Flag looked down on the massive dark rhino that had bashed a dent in the side, just behind his door. Shak had instinctively hit the brakes. Which was exactly the wrong thing to do right then.

 

     "Bloody move it man!" shouted Flag, dumping the shotgun, and grabbing the SLR. Shak Choy took off again in first gear, but the rhino was already charging the tailgate. The impact was worse

than Shak's crash change into second gear. The back slewed round, and they were nearly crosswise to the track - and stopped again.

 

     Being side on, at least Flag had a good view of the rhino. Trouble was, it also had a good view of him. It was less than thirty feet away, staring at him with its beady little eyes, and preparing to charge once more. This time it was going to come straight for Flag, he was sure of it. He looked at the bony head, and convinced himself that his bullets would just bounce off. He would have to try for the heart. But he was too high up, and the head was in the way. He would have to get down on the track. No good just thinking about it - do it, McAndrew! Oh God, why do I

have this compulsion to work in exotic places, instead of staying home in a nice safe country?

 

     He opened the door and stepped onto the track. Now he would find out how good his Marksman's badge was against a target like this. The rhino raised its head, and started to charge. Flag knelt down, shouting to Shak to grab the shotgun in case he made a mess of it. He whipped the rifle up, thumbed the safety, and let off a snap shot. The rhino staggered as the bullet entered at the base of its neck. Then the front foot pawed the ground, the head went down, and it began to lumber forward again.

 

     Flag had only a moment to make up his mind. He couldn't get another round into a vulnerable area of the body while the head was in the way. The rhino was on the move now. He aimed at the

right front knee joint, and let off two shots as quick as he could pull the trigger. He instantly shifted aim, and did the same to the left leg. The rhino collapsed forwards, digging a furrow in the track with its jaw. A few feet closer and Flag would have been sausage meat between it and the Rover.

Now the damned thing was trying to get at him by pushing forward with its hind legs. Fortunately it couldn't steer properly, and its head was waving from side to side. Flag emptied the magazine into its ribcage. Still, it took another minute or so to die - with a full magazine of heavy, high velocity 7.62mm bullets in it!

 

     "What the hell do we do with the body, Shak Choy?"

     "Just leave it Mr.McAndrew. The other animals will soon take care of it. Bloody good shooting - I thought you were crazy at first when you stepped out of the Rover." His voice was shaky.

 

     "Okay, let's get the hell out of here, before any tigers scent the feast," said Flag, with a shake in his voice also. This always happened with him. So long as there was excitement and danger, he usually stayed cool as a cucumber. But as soon as it was over, he got the shakes.

     He removed the magazine from the SLR, cocked it and pulled the trigger, with the rifle pointing at the sky. There was a click as the pin hit empty air. Grabbing another magazine, he clicked it in place, hitting it with the heel of his hand to make sure it was right home. Then he re-cocked, and set the safety. His sadistic South African weapons training sergeant in the army would have been proud of him right then.

 

     For more than another hour, they toiled slowly through the depression, sweltering in the oppressive heat and dust. They met no more rhinos, to Flag's great relief - he'd had quite enough

excitement already for one day. But they did hear a tiger roar far behind them at one stage.

     "I think the rhino has been found," said Shak Choy.

        

     It was a great relief to enter the fringe of jungle at the far end of the depression. Within minutes, the air felt ten degrees less hot. Soon there were houses here and there in their small plots of cultivated land. Then the children and the chickens made their appearance. They were back in the land of people. The road was not much better than it had been through the swamp;

but at least it was much friendlier.

 

 

Reviews

[G Garcia]

I generally avoid reading novels here due to time constraints. I also tend to eschew chapters because one cannot get a sense of overarching theme or character development from a single chapter. Obviously, I abandoned these rules today, and I'm happy to have done so.

Your writing is pragmatic, in the sense that you you tell your story without fanfare or ornament. The telling (or rather showing) allows character development to spring from the narrative. I was highly entertained and fascinated by the level of detail. Seems that you've done extensive research, sir.

Two very minor critiques:

1) "The pits" - for some reason, that expression seemed out of place in the narrative. It's a personal niggle.
2) "Within minutes, the air felt ten degrees less hot." - I mentally changed this sentence to read, "Within minutes, the air felt ten degrees cooler." Again, personal preference.

I'm intrigued, and I want to read more of this story - Well done!