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Chapter 43

           "Goon,yousonofabitch,"hesaid,andthrewthedeadbranchafterhimasthepack-horsecrossedtheroadandstartedacrosstheslope.Thebranchhithimandthehorsebrokefromarunintoagallop.

           RobertJordanrodethirtyyardsfartheruptheroad;beyondthatthebankwastoosteep.Thegunwasfiringnowwiththerocketwhishandthecracking,dirt-spoutingboom."Comeon,youbiggrayfascistbastard,"RobertJordansaidtothehorseandputhimdowntheslopeinaslidingplunge.Thenhewasoutintheopen,overtheroadthatwassohardunderthehooveshefeltthepoundofitcomeupallthewaytohisshoulders,hisneckandhisteeth,ontothesmoothoftheslope,thehoovesfindingit,cuttingit,poundingit,reaching,throwing,going,andhelookeddownacrosstheslopetowherethebridgeshowednowatanewanglehehadneverseen.Itcrossedinprofilenowwithoutforeshorteningandinthecenterwasthebrokenplaceandbehinditontheroadwasthelittletankandbehindthelittletankwasabigtankwithagunthatflashednowyellow-brightasamirrorandthescreechastheairrippedapartseemedalmostoverthegrayneckthatstretchedaheadofhim,andheturnedhisheadasthedirtfountainedupthehillside.

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