Текст книги "A Time to Die"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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"My plan is for you to cross the border disguised as Zimbabwean troops."

,fli bet there is a huge volume of military traffic through the border post."

"There is," China affirmed.

"We'll need Zimbabwean Army uniforms for all the black troops and something for me." Sean tapped his finger on the map.

"We will have to wheedle our way into the base without firing a shot."

"I have a British field officer's uniform for you," China said softly. "It's genuine and I have the papers to go with it."

"How the hell did you get that?"

6611 hree months ago we attacked a Zimbabwean column near Vila da Monica. There was a British observer with the column, and he got caught in the crogsfire. He was a major in one of the guards regiments, seconded to the high commissioner in Harare as a military attacM, according to his papers.

""The uniform has been cleaned of blood and the tears made by fragmentation grenade have been patched most expertly. The tailor who did the work made my own uniform." China smoothed his tunic over his lean flanks, looking pleased with it. "He will alter the captured uniform to fit you, Colonel. The British major was about your height but a great deal larger around the waist and backside."

"A guards regiment." Sean smiled. "I don't know about my accent.

Any Englishman would pick me out as a colonial the instant I open my mouth."

"You will have to deal only with the Third Brigade guards at the base gates. I assure you they will not have such discerning ears."

okay, Sean said. "So we may be able to get in, but how the hell do we get out?" He was beginning to enjoy himself, becoming absorbed with the problem.

"Not so fast, Sean." Job was studying the map. "We can't just pitch up at the gates without an invitation and demand entry. With the Stingers there the security will be at a maximum."

"That is correct," China concurred. "However, I have more good news for you. I actually have a man inside the base. He is a nephew of mine-we are a large family." He looked complacent as he went on. "He is in signals, a warrant officer, second in command of the Grand Reef communications center. He will be able to fake a signal from the Zimbabwe high command authorizing an inspection of the Stinger program by the military attache. So the guards at the base will be expecting you. They won't scrutinize your pass too closely."

"If you have a man inside the base, he'll know exactly where the Stingers are stored," Job suggested eagerly.

"Right." China nodded. "They are in number three hangar.

That's second from the left."

We know exactly where number three hangar is," Sean assured him.

He frowned as he tried to anticipate the other problems they would encounter. "I will want to know the packaging of the missiles, sizes, and weights." China scribbled a note on his pad. "And there must be instruction manuals covering their operation. Those will certainly be in the office of the Royal Artillery captain. I must know exactly where that is." He ticked off each item on his fingers as it occurred to him, and Job added his own ideas.

"We'll need a diversion," he suggested. "A second unit to stage an attack on the base perimeter furthest from the hangar and training center, plenty of tracer and RPG rocks and white phosphorus grenades-we will need another squad for that."

It was like old times. How often had they worked together like this, each stimulating the other, their excitement kept under tight rein but sparkling in their eyes.

Once Job remarked, "I'm glad it's the Third Brigade we'll be going against, that bunch of nun killers and child rapers. They led the purge in Matabeleland." The slaughter and atrocity that had accompanied the brigade's sweep through the tribal areas from which the Matabele political dissidents had been operating was fresh in both their memories.

"Two of my brothers, my grandfather..." Job's voice dropped to a deathly whisper. "The Third Brigade threw their bodies down the old shaft at Antelope Mine."

"This isn't personal vengeance," Sean warned him. "All we want is those Stingers, Job." The intertribal hatred of Africa was as fierce as any Corsican vendetta, and Job had physically to shake himself to break the spell of it.

"You're right, but a few Third Brigade scalps would be a nice little fringe benefit."

Sean grinned. Despite his admonition, the thought of taking on ZANLA again gave him equal satisfaction. How many good men and women, how many dear friends had he lost to them over the eleven long years of the bush war, and how complex were the lines of hatred and loyalty that held together the very fabric of Africa.

Only an African could ever understand it.

"Okay." Sean brought them back to hard reality. "We have got in.

We have the Stingers, say two loaded Unimogs. I have found the manuals. We are Fody to pull out. The diversion has lured most of the guards to the southern perimeter of the base, on the far side of the airfield. Aow we have to get out. They aren't going to be,so happy about letting us go."

"We charge the gates," Job said. "Use one truck to break down the barricades."

"Yes." Sean nodded. "And then? We aren't going to be able to get out of the country through the border post at Umtali. By that time the whole Zimbabwean Army and Frelimo will a be after us." They both turned back to the wall map again. Sean reached up and traced the road that branched northward just before it reached the town of Unitali, then ran parallel with the border as it traversed the rugged eastern highlands toward Inyanga National Park, an area of misty peaks and wet, densely forested valleys. He touched one of the valleys, a green wedge driven deeply into the barrier of mountains.

"Honde Valley," he read the legend. The road crossed the head of it, and the valley itself was a funnel that led down to the border and the Mozambique uplands. It formed a natural reentrance to the highlands, a gateway that had been one of the major infiltration routes of the ZANLA guerrillas from their training bases in Mozambique. Sean and Job had learned all its wants the hard way-the hidden trails and strong points, the false ports and the concealed passes.

"The track down to Saint Mary's Mission," Sean said. They stared at it. "That's as far as we can take the trucks."

there is only six Ks to the border," Job murmured.

"From "Six hard Ks," Sean qualified. "And we won't be clear just because we have crossed into Mozambique. We will still have them after us until we get into Renamo-held ground."

Sean turned back to General China. "I'll want porters waiting for us at Saint Mary's Mission. How far does your control of territory extend?"

"The porters will present no problem." China– came to stand between them and pointed to a speck on the map marked Mavonela. "And I can have trucks waiting at this village. Once u reach Mavonela, I will consider that you have made good yo delivery of the missiles."

"I suggest we don't try and bring out forty Stingers with one column of porters," Job cut in. "It will make a perfect target for Mugabe's MiGs. One load of napalm is all it would take."

"And of course, Frelimo can call in their Hinds," Sean added.

"You are right, Job. Once it is light enough for air attack, we will bombshell." He was referring to the old guerrilla trick of splintering the column and offering numerous small elusive targets, rather than a single large ungainly one. "Can you arrange for a series of RZs rather than a single RZ at Mavonela village?" He used the old Scouts" abbreviation for a rendezvous.

"Yes." China nodded. "We will disperse the transport along the Mavonela road." He traced it out. "One truck every kilometer, hidden under camouflage netting, and we'll move the Stingers out on the last stage under cover of darkness."

"All right, let's draw up a timetable," Sean said. "Let's get it all down on paper. I'll need writing material."

China opened a drawer of his desk and brought out a cheap notebook and ballpoint pen. While they worked, China sent for his quartermaster, a chubby little man who had run a men's outfitters in Beira before economic necessity rather than ideological commitment had forced him to leave the town and seek employment in the deep bush with China's guerrillas.

He arrived carrying the uniform for a staff officer of the Irish Guards in the field, complete with insignia, headgear, webbing, and boots. Sean donned the uniform for a fitting without interrupting their planning session. The tunic and trousers had to be taken in, and the boots were a size too large.

"Better too big than too small," Sean decided. "I'll wear a couple of pairs of socks."

The tailor tucked and pinned and crawled around Sean's feet as he let the trouser bottoms down an inch.

"Fine." Sean examined the guards major's papers China laid out on the desk top. From the photograph, Sean saw that the major had been a fleshy, fair-haired individual in his late forties.

"Gavin Dully," Sean read the dead man's name aloud. "You'll have to alter the ID photograph."

"My propaganda officer will take care of that," China told him.

The propaganda officer was a mulatto, half Portuguese, half Shangane, and he was armed with a Polaroid camera. He took four mug shots of Sean, then spirited away the deceased guards major's ID card to doctor the photograph.

"All right." Sean turned back to China. "Now I want to take command of the men who will make up the raiding party and see them properly kit ted out. You'll have to explain to them that they are to take their orders from me in future."

China smiled and stood up. "Follow me, Colonel. I'll take you to meet your new command."

He led the way out of the bunker, but once they were on the path through the forest that led down to the river, Sean fell in beside him and they continudto discuss the raid.

"Obviously I am going to need more than the original ten men in Sergeant Alpholist's squad, at least another detachment to make the diversionary attack on the base." Sean broke off as the mournful wail of the hand-operated sirens rose from the camp around them. Instantly all around them was turmoil and confusion.

"The Hinds!" shouted China. "Take cover!" He sprinted r a sandbagged emplacement among the trees nearby. There was a twin-barreled 12.7-men antiaircraft weapon mounted in the emplacement. It would be a prime target for the Hind gunners, and Sean looked around quickly for alternative cover.

In the long grass on the opposite ode of the track, he spotted a less conspicuous shell scrape and ran for it. As he tumbled into it he heard the oncoming roar of the Hind gunships and the cacophony of ground fire built up swiftly. Job jumped down into the foxhole and squatted beside him. Then another smaller figure a above them and, nimble as a hare, leaped into the hole.

For a moment Sean did not realize who it was, not until the wrinkled face creased like a used napkin into a wide white smile and the man said happily, "I see you, Bwana "

"I "You! You silly little bugger!" Sean stared at him in disbelief.

sent you back to Chiwewe. What the hell are you doing back bereT"

"I went back to Chiwewe as you commanded , Matatu said "Then I came back to look for you."

virtuously Sean still stared at Matatu in awe as he considered what that statement entailed. Then he shook his head and began to smile.

immediately the little man's answering grin seemed to split his face in two.

0 "Nobody saw your" Sean demanded in Swahili. "You came through the lines into the headquarters of an army, and nobody saw your, "Nobody sees Matatu when Matatu does not want to be seen."

The earth trembled under them, and the sound of rockets and gunfire forced them to put their heads close together and shout into each other's faces.

"How long have you been herer"

"Since yesterday." Matatu looked apologetic. He pointed to the sky where the Hinds were circling. "Since those machines attacked yesterday. I was watching when you jumped into the river. I followed you along the bank when you used the tree as a boat. I wanted to come to you then, but I saw crocodiles. Then in the night the bad men, the shifts, came in the boat and brought you back here. I waited and watched."

"Did you see where they took the white woman?" Sean demanded.

"I saw them take her away last night." Matatu showed little interest in Claudia. "But I waited for you."

can you find out where they took her?" Sean asked.

"Of "I course." Matatu's grin faded, and he looked indignant.

can follow them anywhere they took her."

note Sean unbuttoned his tunic pocket and pulled out his new book. Crouched in the bottom of the shell scrape with an air raid de ring overhead, he composed the first love letter he had thun Ming the single tiny sheet of cheap notepaper written in years. F with all the assurances and comfort and cheer he could muster, he ended it, "Be strong, it won't be for much longer and remember I love you. Whatever happens, I love you."

He ripped the page out of the notebook and folded it carefWly.

"Take this to her." He handed it to Matatu. "See that she gets it and then come back to me."

Matatu tucked the scrap of paper into his loincloth and waited expectantly'INd you see the hole in which I slept last nightr" Sean asked.

"I saw you come from there this morning." Matatu nodded.

"That will be our meeting place," Sean told him. "Come to me there, when the shifts are asleep." Sean looked up at the sky. 11w raid had been fierce but short-lived. The sound of engines and gunfire was dwindling, but dust and smoke drifted over their shelter.

"Go now," Sean ordered. Matatu jumped to his feet, eager to obey, but Sean took his arm. It was thin as a child's, and Sean shook it affectionately. "Don't let them catch you, old friend," he said in Swahili.

Matatu shook his head and twinkled with amusement at the absurdity of that thought. Then, like a puff of smoke from a genic's lamp, he was gone.

They waited a few minutes to let Matatu. get clear, then climbed out of the shelter. The trees around them were torn and shattered with shell and rocket fire; across the river an ammunition store was burning. RPG rockets, and phosphorus grenades were exploding, sending dense white smoke towering into the sky.

General China came striding down the path to meet them. There was a sooty stain on the sleeve of his uniform and dust on Ins knees and elbows. His expression was furious.

"Our position here is totally compromised," he fumed. "They raid us at will and we have no response."

"You'll have to pulWour main force back out of range of the Hinds." Sean shrugged.

6hI can't do that. 17China shook his head. "It will mean we can no longer maintain our stranglehold on the railway. It will mean conceding control of the main road system to Frelimo and inviting them to come on the offensive."

"Well then." Sean shrugged again. "You are going to take a hammering if you remain here."

"Get me those Stingers," China hissed. "Get them, and get them quickly!" And he strode away down the path.

ex on the river Sean and Job followed him to the bunker com pl bank, where a company of forty guerrillas, obviously forewarned of the general's approach, were drawn up in a makeshift parade ground of beaten earth the size of a tennis court. They seemed oblivious of the air raid damage, the smoke and debris, and the scurrying first aid parties and damage control teams around them.

Sean recognized Sergeant Alphonso and his Shanganes in the first rank. He came forward and saluted General China, then wheeled and gave the order for the detachment to stand easy.

General China wasted few words and little time. He raised his voice and addressed them brusquely in Shangane.

"You men are being given a special task. You win, in future, take your orders from this white officer." He indicated Sean beside him. "You will follow those orders strictly. You all know the consequences of failing to do so." He turned to Sean. "Carry on, Colonel Courtney," he said, then strode away back up the path toward the command bunker. Instinctively Sean almost saluted him. Then he checked himself.

"Screw you, China," he muttered under his breath, and then gave his full attention to his new command.

Of course, he already knew Sergeant Alphonso's squad well, but the additional men China had found for him were as likely looking a bunch as he had seen in the Renamo ranks. China had given of his very best. Sean moved slowly down the front rank, inspecting each of them. They were all equipped with AKM assault rifles, the more modern version of the venerable AK-47. In places the bluing was worn from the metal with long usage, but the weapons were meticulously clean and well maintained. Their webbing was in first-class order, and their uniforms, although again well worn, were neatly patched and repaired.

"Always judge a workman by the state of his tools," Sean thought. These were top soldiers, proud and hard. As he came level with each of them he stared into his eyes and saw it there. Of all the people of Africa, Sean felt the greatest rapport with the Zuluoriginated tribes, the Angonis and Matabeles and Shanganes. Had he been given a choice, these were exactly the type of men he would have chosen for this assignment.

Once he had finished the inspection, he went back to the front and addressed them for the first time in Shangane. "You and I together are going to burst the balls of the dung-eating Frelimo," he said quietly. In the front rank Sergeant Alphonso grinned wolfishly.

Her hands still manacled behind her back, Claudia Monterro was marched through the darkness, over a rough track, by the two female war dresses and an escort of five troopers. Often she stumbled, and when she fell and sprawled full length, she was unable to use her hands to protect herself from the rocky surface. Soon her knees were raw and bleeding, and the march became a torturous nightmare.

It seemed without end, hour after hour it went on and every time she fell the tall sergeant harangued her in a language she could not understand. Each time it required more of an effort to regain her feet, for she was unable to use her hands and arms to balance herself.

She Was So thirsty her Saliva had turned to a sticky paste in her mouth. Her legs ached, and her hands and arms, held so long in such an unnatural position, were numb and cold. Sometimes she heard voices in the darkness around her and once or twice she smelled smoke and saw the glow of a camp fire or a feeble paraffin lantern, so she knew she was still within the Renamo lines.

The march ended abruptly. She guessed they were still near the river; she could feel the "of its waters in the air and see the taller riverine trees silhouqted against the stars. She could smell humanity around her: stale lash of cooking fires and woodsmoke, human sweat in unwashed clothing, and human body wastes and the sour odors of garbage.

At lot they led her through a barbed wire gate into another prison compound and dragged her toward one of a row of dugouts.

The two war dresses took her arms, hustled her down a set of earthen steps, and Pushed her into the darkness so she tripped and fell once more on her injured knees. Behind her she heard a door the darkness was absolute.

being closed and barred, and After a short struggle she regained her feet, but when she tried to stand full height, she bumped her head on the low roof It felt like a roof of undressed wooden poles still in their bark. She shuffled backward, stretching out her fingers behind her, until she touched the door. It was of hand-sawn planks, rough and sharp with splinters. She pressed her weight upon it, but it was solid and unmoving.

Bent over to protect her head, she shuffled around her prison.

The walls were made of damp earth. Her cell was tiny, about six feet square, and in the far corner she stumbled over the only furnishing it contained. It was metal, and she explored it with her foot and found that it was an iron bucket. The ripe stench emanating from it left no doubt of its purpose. She completed the circuit of her cell and came back to the door.

Her thirst was an agony now, and she called through the door.

"Please, I need water." Her voice was a harsh croak and her lips felt tight and dry, ready to split. "Water!" she called. Then she remembered the Spanish word and hoped it was the same in Portuguese: "Agua!"

It was futile. The earthen walls seemed to swallow and deaden the sound of her voice. She shuffled to the far corner and sank down to the dark floor. Only then did she realize just how physically exhausted she was, yet the manacles on her wrists prevented her from lying on her back or side. She tried to find a position in which she could rest comfortably and at last, by wedging herself upright in a corner of the cell, she succeeded.

The cold and something else woke her, and she was confused and disoriented. For a moment she believed she was back in her father's home in Anchorage and she cried out for him.

"Papa! Are you there?"

Then she smelled the damp and the sewage bucket, felt the cold in her joints and her pinioned arms, and she remembered. Despair swept over her like a black wave and she felt herself drowning in it. Then she heard again the sound that had awakened her, and she went rigid and felt the cold sweat burst out on her neck and forehead.

She knew what it was instantly. Claudia had none of the more usual feminine phobias-she had no terror of spiders or snakes, there was just one unnatural terror that afflicted her. She sat rigid and listened to the scampering sounds of a creature moving about her cell. That sound was the stuff of her nightmares, and she stared into the darkness, trying to will it away from herself.

Then suddenly she felt it on her, the sharp little claws pricking her skin, the cold touch of paws on her flesh. It was a rat, and by the weight of it on her, it must have been huge, as big as a rabbit.

She screamed wildly, lunged to her feet, and kicked out blindly at It. when at last she stopped screaming, she shrank into the corner and found she was trembling in wild spasms.

"Stop it!" she told herself. "Pull yourself together!" And by an enormous effort of will she regained control. There was complete silence in the darkness. Her screams had frightened the creature away for the time being, but she still could not bring herself to sit on the dirt floor again, for she was terrified it would return.

Despite her exhaustion she stood propped in the corner and waited out the rest of the night. She dozed, almost fell asleep on her feet, then jerked awake again. That sequence happened many times, and then, as she came awake for the last time, she realized that the darkness was no longer total and she could see.

Light was filtering into the cell, and she blinked and found the source of it. There were slits and gaps between the poles of the low roof. These had been daubed with clay and grass, but in one or two places the dried clay had fallen out of the cracks, allowing chinb of light through. Stems of coarse elephant grass hung down untidily from the cracks.

Fearfully she looked around the cell, but the rat had th pea red it must have squeezed through one of the gaps between the poles.

Claudia stumbled across to the reeking galvanized sewage bucket, and only as she stood over it she did realize her predicament. Her hands were locked behind her back, and with that realization her need became irresistible.

Her fingers were almost devoid of feeling, but in desperate haste she was able to grip her leather belt and gradually work it through the loops of her trousers until the buckle was at the small of her back. Whimpering with the effort of self-control needed to delay her bodily functions, she clumsily unclasped the belt.

She had lost so much weight that as soon as her belt was 1008ened her trousers fell avQ;und her ankles and she was able to hook a thumb under the eWtic of her panties and drag them down as far as her knees.

Always fastidious, Claudia experienced the worst hardship of her captivity when her efforts to cleanse herself properly failed. She found herself sobbing with humiliation as she finally managed to dress again. Her wrists were rubbed raw and her arms ached from the strenuous efforts needed to perform this simple task. She huddled in the corner of her cell and the stench of the bucket seemed to permeate the very depth of her soul.

A single ray of sunlight shot through a chink in the roof Poles and pinned a brilliant silver coin on the far wall. She watched it Tom move infinitely slowly down the earthen wall, and somehow it seemed to warm and cheer her enough to dull the cutting edge of her despair.

Before the coin of light reached the floor of the cell, she heard a scraping at the door as the bars were drawn and the door was forced open on its primitive hinges. The tall sergeant stooped into the cell and Claudia scrambled to her feet.

"Please," she whispered. "You must let me wash," she said in her schoolgirl Spanish, but the wardress showed no sign of having understood. In one hand she carried a metal billy can of water and in the other a bowl of stiff maize cake. She placed the billy can on the floor, then tipped the lump of maize cake into the dirt beside it.

Claudia's thirst, which she had managed temporarily to subdue, returned with even greater agony, and she almost whimpered at the sight of the billy. It contained almost two liters of clear water.

She sank down on her knees before it like a worshiper and looked up at the wardress.

k "Please," she said in Spanish. "I must use my hands, please."

The wardress chuckled, the first animation she had shown, and she nudged the billy dangerously with the toe of her boot; a little water slopped over the rim.

"No," Claudia croaked. "Don't spill it."

On her knees she bent over and tried to reach the water with her tongue. She thrust it out as far as it would reach and felt the blessed wetness on the very tip, but the rim of the metal billy was cutting into her face.

She looked up again. "Please help me."

The wardress laughed again and leaned against the wall, watching Claudia's efforts with amusement.

Claudia stooped again and gripped the rim of the billy between her teeth. Carefully she tilted it, and a few drops trickled between her lips. The pleasure was so intense that her vision clouded. She drank a sip at a time until the level in the billy had fallen to where the liquid could no longer flow into her mouth. However, the vessel was still more than half full and her thirst seemed only to have been aggravated by what she had managed to drink.

Still holding the rim between her teeth, she carefully raised her head and tilted it backward. It was too quick. She choked as the water flooded into her mouth, and the billy slipped from between her teeth and water splashed down her chest and puddled on the floor, to be quickly absorbed into the dirt.

The wardress let out a shrill shriek of laughter, and Claudia felt tears of despair fill her eyes. She only just managed to smother the sob that came up her throat.

The wardress deliberately stepped onto the white maize cake, smearing it into the dirt. Then, with another snort of laughter, she snatched up the empty billy and left the cell. Claudia heard her still giggling as she re barred the door of the cell.

She could judge the passage of time by the angle of the sunlight through the chinks in the roof. The first day seemed interminable.

Despite the discomfort of the manacles, she was able to sleep fitfully, but while she was awake she occupied herself by plan to increase her chances of survival.

Water was her most pressing need. The little she had drunk might just see her through this day, but she knew she was already suffering from dehydration.

"I have to find some method of drinking from that billy," she told herself, and spent most of that afternoon wrestling with the problem. When the solution came to her, she lurched to her feet so hastily she bumped the back of her head on the log roof. She ignored the hurt and examined the untidy tufts of elephant grass that hung down from between the chinks of the roof. She selected one of the grass stems and took it carefully between her teeth, worried it loose, and let it drop to the floor. She knelt over it and, by straining backward, managed to get a hand to it. Fortunately it was dry and brittle and snapped readily between her fingers. She broke it into four equal lengths each about nine inches long and, once again by backward contortions, planted them upright in the loose earth of the floor. She turned round, knelt, and picked up the first of them between her lips. She tried to blow through it, but it was blocked with pith and dirt. She discarded it and went on to the next.

When she blew through this one, a tiny cork of dirt flew out of the end like a bl e and then it was hollow and clear. She flopped onto herobUZe and sat in the middle of the dirt floor with the straw still stuck in her mouth, laughing around it in triumph. Her sense of elation and achievement dispelled the Corroding sense of despair that had almost destroyed her will to keep on living.

She crawled to the corner and carefully hid the precious straw.

Then, for the rest of that day, she planned how she would use it.

The rays of sun no longer penetrated to her cell, and the heavy gloom of evening was on her before she heard the wardress at the door. She huddled in her corner when the sergeant stooped into the cell, carelessly dumped the stodgy lump of boiled maize meal into the dirt, and stood the metal billy beside it.

She leaned expectantly against the doorjamb and waited for Claudia to scramble for the food and drink like an animal on all fours. Claudia crouched motionlessly in the furthest corner of the cell and tried to show no expression, but her throat contracted in an involuntary swallowing reflex and her thirst was a raging beast within her.

After she had not moved for a few minutes, the sergeant said something irritable in Portuguese and gestured to the hilly. With an immense effort Claudia prevented herself from looking down at it. The woman shrugged. Once again she stepped onto the maize cake and ground it into the dirt. She gave a snort of unconvincing laughter and backed out through the door, dragging it shut behind her, but left the billy can standing at the threshold.