As the Boers got audibly closer and closer to the galley doors, Smollett ushered everyone to be quiet. This was it. He whispered something to the two marines on either side of him and told them to pass the message on down the line. "Only shoot when I give the signal" he said, indicating with a flick of his wrist that a spoon's near silent clang against the metal counter would be the cue to rain fire upon the enemy. As it was hurriedly passed on, Smollett knelt down, took out his pistol and aimed it over the counter; only the very tip of the barrel was visible; the same went for every other gun poking out from behind it, which looked to be multiple assorted ketchup and mustard containers in the near-pitch black darkness.
He wasn't sure if his initial message had gone all the way down the line to the end yet, but there was an instant hush that silenced any whispering when the sound of the creaking galley doors opened. His muscles visibly tensed, and the men next to him were shivering, ironically in an attempt not to make any noise. None was made, of course, the marines were extra quiet, but still Smollett was worried that the slightest slip-up could result in a massacre.
Adjusting his eyes, he could make out the dark figures of the Stormjaers quietly creeping between the tables, getting closer and closer. Wait for the command, Smollett mentally urged the marines, as if they could hear. He grasped the spoon tightly, getting it closer and closer to the counter as the Stormjaers lined up in his sights. He flinched when one of them said, in Afrikaans. "Is dit die fokken kombuis?" "Toegesluit, volg net die luitenant." came the Afrikaans reply.
Then a loud clang, metal-to-metal, broke the silence.
The Boer soldiers stood, shocked and alarmed, as bullets rained upon them.
