His eyes were again on the line of light. A fury of recklessness was
urging him. There were the breaks, and he blazed at each in turn,
carefully, deliberately. A moment later two shots came from the right
and left of him, and he dropped down behind his barrier, but not before
he had heard the death-cries of fierce blasphemy at the far end of the
room.
He lay behind his shelter breathing hard and suffering an agony of
physical pain. The sweat poured down his forehead. It seemed to him
that everything was somehow receding from him, even the sense of his
own danger. In these feelings he realized how near he was to defeat,
and with all his will he set himself to conquer his weakness. A few
moments passed. His pain eased. Then, with all the recklessness of
the gambler, he prepared for his final throw.
He was certain he had accounted for four of the enemy. Four. He
calculated there were still two remaining. He shifted his position,
moving himself clear of his shelter. A hell of suffering was endured
in the process, and the sweat poured out afresh upon his forehead.
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