Here is another story from previous client, Joe McCray:
The eland were out there. Somewhere. I couldn’t see them through the brush, but Vaughan had them spotted through his glasses.
We were lined up like guineas; Vaughan sitting behind a scrub mopane, then me, uncomfortably crouching, trying to be as quiet as possible as my legs went to sleep. Over my shoulder, Andreas was sitting, looking bored and staring off across the countryside.
A few years passed, and then Vaughan motioned for me to get the rifle up. As I leaned forward, using the mopane as a rest, I could see the eland. Several eland, milling about. Vaughan whispered to take the one to the right. I found him through the scope, and as it turned to move off Vaughan hissed, “Shoot!” Even as he said it, I was taking the slack out of the trigger.
The 416 went off, the eland bucked and ran, and Vaughan looked back at Andreas, who was grinning and nodding.
After waiting for Vaughan to smoke a cigarette, and for feeling to return to my numb legs, we found the big bull laying dead fifty yards away. As we stood around him, the other eight bulls all stood and stared, un-eland like, before moving off.