Wilbur Smith - Assegai

Leon and Kermit lay side by side on the riverbank behind a thin screen of reeds that Manyoro and Loikot had built the previous afternoon. The two Masai trackers lay close behind them. They had been waiting since dawn for Manyoro’s crocodile to show itself. There were peep holes in the screen through which they had a view over the algae-green pool. It was almost two hundred yards to the far bank, which was shaded by a forest of tall pod mahogany trees, their branches festooned with serpentine lianas and hung with the nests of bright yellow weaver birds. The males hung upside-down under the nests they had woven, vibrating their wings and chittering excitedly to attract a watching female to fly down and take up residence. Watching their antics passed the time for Leon, but Kermit was already beginning to fidget.

Manyoro had positioned the hide on top of the steep bank directly above the game trail that ran down through the reed beds to the water’s edge. There were few places around the pool that afforded such easy access to the water. The hunters had moved into the hide while it was still dark, and as the light strengthened, Manyoro pointed out to Leon where the crocodile had hidden under the bank by burrowing into the soft mud below the surface. It had wriggled and squirmed until it had stirred the bottom ooze into a porridge, then lain motionless and allowed the fine mud to settle again over its head and back. The only trace of its presence was the regular chicken-wire outline in the mud that adumbrated its scaly back. Leon could barely make out the shape of its head and the two prominent projections in the skull that held its eyes.

It had taken both himself and Manyoro some time to point out the indistinct shape of the great body to Kermit. When at last he located it Kermit, with his usual impetuosity, had decided to fire immediately at the hazy outline of the head. It had taken many minutes of whispered argument before Leon was able to persuade him that even the Winchester, despite Lusima’s blessing, would not be able to drive a soft-nosed bullet through three feet of water without being stopped dead, as if by a brick wall.

It was now almost noon, and in the heat, herds of antelope and zebra had come to drink at the three other watering points around the pool, but nothing had approached the one that the crocodile had staked out. Kermit was becoming more restless by the minute: he was on the point of rebellion and would soon demand to shoot, Leon thought.

Leon’s luck held. He spotted movement on their left flank. He touched Kermit’s arm and pointed with his chin at the small group of Grevy’s zebra emerging from the trees and making their way timidly down the game path towards the waterhole. Kermit perked up. ‘Perhaps we’re going to see some action at last,’ he murmured, and touched Big Medicine’s stock.

The Grevy’s is the largest member of the horse family, larger even than a Percheron carthorse. With good reason its alternative name is the Imperial Zebra. The stallion that led them stood five feet high at the shoulder and probably weighed close to a thousand pounds. The herd moved with the utmost caution, as do all prey animals when they are aware that predators may be guarding the water. They took only a few paces before stopping to search all around for any sign of danger, then coming on a few more paces.

Kermit watched their approach with eager anticipation. Big Medicine was loaded and lay in front of him propped on a saddle bag that gave him a steady rest. At last the leading stallion stepped gingerly on to the pathway that had been cut into the bank by the hoofs of the thousands of thirsty animals that had come before him, and went down it to the narrow beach. He stood at the water’s edge and made another long scrutiny of the banks around him. At last he made the fateful decision: he lowered his head and sank his velvety black muzzle into the water. As soon as he began to drink the rest of the herd followed him down the path, jostling each other in their eagerness to reach the water.

That was the moment the crocodile had waited for so patiently. He used his tail to propel himself upwards, bursting out of the mud and through the surface of the pool in a sparkling cloud of spray. The men on the bank recoiled instinctively, shocked by the size of the monstrous reptile, the speed and violence of the attack.

‘God, he must be twenty feet long!’ Kermit gasped.

The stallion was heavy, but this brute was four or five times heavier. Despite this difference the zebra’s hoofs were anchored on solid ground and all his power was in his legs. The crocodile’s were small, bent and weak. All its strength was in its tail. In a straight tug-of-war the zebra would have the advantage. The croc had to get him into deeper water where his hoofs would find no purchase. There, the croc’s massive tail would give it an overwhelming advantage.

It did not attempt to seize the stallion in its jaws and try to drag it in, but swung its head like a battle club. With all that weight and power behind the blow it was so fast that the eye could barely follow it. The hideous horny skull crashed into the side of the zebra’s head, breaking bone and stunning him. He fell on his side in four feet of water, legs kicking convulsively above the surface, thrashing head from side to side as he started to drown. Now the croc surged forward, seized the zebra’s muzzle in its jaws and dragged him into the deep water. It began a series of barrel rolls, churning the water to foam, wringing the zebra’s neck as though he were a chicken, at the same time disorientating and drowning him. The crocodile kept rolling until the last glimmer of life had been extinguished in the striped body, then released its grip and backed away.

Twenty yards offshore, it hung on the surface, watching the body of the dead zebra for any last signs of life. The body floated almost completely submerged, with only one back leg sticking above the surface, pointing skywards. The crocodile was fully broadside to the hunters, with only the top of its back and the upper half of its head exposed. The head was rendered all the more hideous by its fixed, sardonic grin.

Kermit was stretched prone behind the saddle bag with the rifle tucked into his shoulder, and his cheek pressed to the stock’s comb. His left eye was tight shut and the right was narrowed with concentration, levelled behind the gun sights.

Leon leaned closer to him. ‘Aim for the corner of his smile, exactly at water level, under the eye.’ The last words were still on his lips when the Winchester roared. Watching through the binoculars Leon saw the tiny splash as the bullet flicked the surface directly under the wicked little eye, then went on to smash into the croc’s head.

‘Perfect!’ Leon shouted, as he jumped to his feet.

‘ Piga! ’ Manyoro sang out. ‘He is hit!’

‘ Ngwenya kufa! The crocodile is dead!’ Loikot shrieked with laughter as he sprang to his feet and launched into a wild, leaping dance. The crocodile hurled its entire body high out of the water, thrashing the surface with its tail in a series of gigantic convulsions. It snapped its jaws, then again leaped high out of the water and fell back with a mighty splash, spinning over and over, its tail kicking up waves that broke heavily against the beach.

‘ Ngwenya kufa! ’ the men on the bank exulted, as the crocodile’s death frenzy reached a crescendo.

Abruptly the massive body froze, the tail arched and went rigid, and the crocodile lay motionless on the surface for moment, then sank, disappearing beneath the green waters.

‘We’re going to lose him!’ Kermit shouted anxiously, and hopped on one leg as he pulled off his boots.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Leon grabbed him.

‘I’m going to pull him out.’