That's when I realized that I was shortly going to be directly in his line of fire. I stopped peering over the edge of my blind, let go of my carbine and flopped flat into the mud at the bottom of the ditch. Sure enough, in a second or so .30 caliber bullets were slamming into my rock parapet and spraying me with stone chips.
Suddenly the shooting stopped. The supply officer had fired off his entire magazine, and without the running trail of dirt explosions there was nothing for everyone else to shoot at. I squinted through my parapet to make sure it was safe, and then I slowly got up.
Everyone was standing up in their blinds with smoke streaming from their weapons. In the sudden quiet I could hear empty brass cartridge cases tinkling as they rolled downhill. Altogether we must easily have fired 200 rounds. Down the mountain I could see Aftal, the guides and dogs running down the slope in terror. Later Aftal swore to me that a couple of frightened boar had run right past them in their flight.
Finding our quarry was difficult. The ground was all plowed up by our bullets. Pieces of bush—in fact, entire plants—had been cut loose and tossed into the air. I kept poking around in the debris and began to find pieces of hair and flesh. A couple of other officers came over and helped. Gradually we assembled the remnants of an animal that turned out to be a large brown rabbit.