Jungle Fever

I could hear the Mau-Mau's straining at the wall.

It was a fair distance but my hearing remains unimpaired and there is no mistaking that sound. That primordial wail to summon whatever gods would assist them in surmounting a barrier that gainsayed their advance. An old hand at this, I made ready the first line of my defense and waited. At 300 yards a 30.06 will take a man down before his companions hear the crack of the powder, and as others begin to fall the remainder slow their advance.

But just for a time. The shouting then takes on a life all it's own as fear supplants bravado, and since there is really only one way to go, they charge. At that point in time it is a wise thing to switch rifles or break all records in working a bolt. I prefer the former. A semi-automatic .308 can topple a charging warrior every 3 seconds if a cool hand is on the trigger, and while no man can ever know what his aim will bring on any given day, one who has done it many times before has at least an inkling.

Fortunately, two police cruisers approached and the "neighbors" across the way scattered in as many directions as there were scatterers.

It happens one or two times a week. Very nearly every week. The police say that if they were to respond to every call of unruly men screaming as they ran through the darkness they'd soon run out of jail cells. So they turn on the sirens and herd them away.

And I await the day they scale the fences.