The Angry Hills by Leon Uris Read Free Book Online

order him back to the grove. He studied Morrison. The bloke was in wretched condition... worse off than the rest of his troops. He carried no rations or canteen. Perhaps it would be better to let him get some food and water and freshen up. Otherwise they may have to be packing him and he’d slow the whole group down.
    “Very well,” the captain said, “but be back in an hour.”
    Mike headed down the path....
    “Soldier!”
    “Yes, sir ...”
    “When you get back, you’d better get some sleep.”
    “Sleep—sleep...I can’t sleep....I can’t sleep....
    They won’t let me sleep....”
    The Aussie captain stared after him, puzzled, as he swayed down the path to the village. Strange chap, this.
    Mike stepped into a dirt square surrounded by a few dozen white stucco huts. In a moment he was engulfed by a half hundred peasants, women and little children for the most part. They all began jabbering at once, offering handshakes and back slaps of welcome.
    Some kissed him. Some of the women cried.
    Why do they cry for me? Don’t they know the British are beaten? Don’t they know their saviors can’t help them? Why do they cry for me? What strange people are these?
    He took a kidskin of water from one of the peasants and the dryness loosened under the cool sweet taste of artesian water. It trickled down his chin and over his jacket. He poured it over his head and laughed, half-hysterically, as it revived him.
    A woman shoved a loaf of bread into his hands and another gave him a cheese. He tore at the bread and stuffed it into his mouth and drank some more of the sweet water.
    Another kidskin of water was given him and he looped its rope over his shoulder and stuffed his pockets with bread and cheese and thanked them all and shook their hands and kissed them.
    The plane struck so fast no one heard it coming. It streaked from the sky and roared over the square, its machine guns ablaze.
    A little girl of about four lay dead in the square, clutching a rag doll. She had pretty black curls and she held her doll tightly against her.
    “Lynn,” Mike whispered his daughter’s name....“Lynn.”
    The villagers began to edge back into the square. He could not face them. He turned and ran past the white huts onto the path.
    “You there! I’ve been looking for you.”
    Mike whirled around.
    A Palestinian sergeant walked up the path to him. “The captain sent me for you. We’re going to push on.”
    “The plane—killed a little girl....”
    “I said we’re moving out.”
    “Moving out? But—but it’s still daylight—the planes will find us....”
    “New orders by radio. Hop to it.”
    “The man,” Mike whispered, “don’t let the man get me....”
    “What man?”
    “The little man—the little man with the horn-rimmed glasses...”
    “There is no man,” the sergeant said.
    “Yes—I saw him. I saw him coming through the grove....”
    The sergeant frowned. “You feeling all right, cobber? Come on now, let me help you.”
    Mike fell against the sergeant. The Palestinian steadied him and helped him back to the lemon grove where the troops were griping and muttering as they struggled into their packs.
    The sergeant looked at the Aussie captain and shrugged, and the captain nodded knowingly.
    “Just our blooming luck.”
    “I’ll keep an eye on him, sir,” the sergeant said.
    “I saw him coming through the grove....” Mike mumbled.
    “Steady, cobber, steady.”
    They moved on.
    The Palestinian sergeant stayed close to Mike and never took an eye off him. As the terrain became steeper and more rugged, Mike was alternately encouraged and prodded to keep on. When his strength gave out completely he was dragged. The Aussie captain led his weary troops toward a craggy mountain pass toward the coast. The endless day slugged on into an endless night.
    “They’ll get you.... They’ll get you.... They’ll get you....”
    Dawn of the fourth day brought them staggering from the mountains to the coast. They made for