"One night the drums stopped their perpetual throbbing because, at the request of the local tribal chief, Bruce had undertaken to shoot a troublesome crocodile. The beast had lived in a large pool on the Musengezi River for as long as the chief could remember and it had been responsible for killing a number of people. Recently the dreaded reptile had dragged a young girl screaming into the river. She was never seen again.
I accompanied Bruce and two of his men to the large boomerang‑shaped pool in which the crocodile lived. We were all armed with FN rifles and Bruce had a powerful headlamp plus four hand grenades. The intense beam of light tracked back and forth over the water and along the reeds of the far bank searching for crocodile eyes that reflect light like bright stars. There was no sign of the brute so Bruce lobbed two widely separated grenades into the water. As the grenades went in, I slipped on the steep slope of the high bank overlooking the pool and very nearly went over the sheer drop into the water just as the dull thuds from the grenades mushroomed in the water. My slide was checked in time to see the huge crocodile’s eyes light up in the beam of torchlight midway between the turbulent patches of water. We all fired together hitting the croc several times. When spray from the hail of bullets settled there was no sign of the brute, which was never seen again. Next night the drums were beating again" (c)