The Sand Pebbles

by Richard McKenna

  It was a very twisted way of figuring, but it made him feel better. He strained his ears through the tumult and he thought he heard the far-away popping of the boat engine. He knew it was his imagination, but he believed it anyway.

  The yelling and the heavy firing stopped abruptly. It was only then that the real fear began to grip him. One Chinese voice was shouting orders. They sounded like cat squalls. He tried to shout back, Go to hell, you bastards! and the words would not form. His mouth was too dry. He was very frightened and trembling. He could not help it.

  They were on the roofs. From both sides he could hear clanks and scrabblings on the roofs. Suddenly he knew he had only seconds left.

  He roared wordlessly and began firing at the roofline. Answering shapes rose all along both ridgelines and guns answered in a blazing roar. The flailing storm of lead crumpled and threw Jake Holman like a giant hand wadding wastepaper.