The Devil’s Kingdom

Chapter 19

A little more than three hours from the city, the troop convoy arrived at its destination and the soldiers scrambled out of the trucks amid a great deal of yelling and excitement. Captain Xulu strutted and puffed his chest and barked commands that did little to create any kind of order. Ben jumped down from the back of the lead truck, full of apprehension.

The trucks had halted nose to tail on a dirt road shaded from one side by thick forest and flanked on the other by a high stone wall. Beyond dilapidated iron gates that were locked with a chain, a rambling mansion-style residence stood at the end of what had once been a grand driveway. A weathered wooden sign on the wall read ORPHELINAT RELIGIEUX POUR GARÇONS SAINT-BAKANJA. Many years before it had become a Catholic orphanage, back in the colonial heyday of the French Congo, the property might have been the country hideaway of a wealthy merchant, conceived in splendid style with all-around airy verandas, columns and a red-tile hipped roof. Time and decay had taken a heavy toll, though despite its state of disrepair the house retained a certain dignity. The woodwork was badly in need of renovation but freshly painted, and the gardens were well tended. The remote orphanage was a lovingly tended haven of peace and serenity.

Until now.

Nobody was in sight within the orphanage grounds except for a wizened old man of about seventy-five who’d been picking at a patch of weeds by the house. He paused his work to turn and stare at the trucks and soldiers. Even at this distance, Ben could see the whites of his eyes widening in alarm.

‘Lieutenant Umutese!’ roared Xulu, pointing at the gates. ‘I want these gates opened!’

‘Very good, Captain,’ Umutese replied, snapping a salute and delegating the order to an underling, who immediately scurried to the driver of the lead truck. The driver revved his engine, cranked the big wheels back into gear and the Ural troop transport lumbered towards the orphanage entrance without slowing down for the gates. They were ripped from their rusty old hinges and flattened as the truck rolled through the gateway. Not waiting for further orders the soldiers swarmed in after it, yowling and waving their rifles in glee as they invaded the grounds. The old gardener had frozen stiff as a statue, as though mesmerised by the sight of ninety armed men rushing towards him.

Ben’s heart was in his throat. ‘What are you going to do to these people?’ he asked Xulu.

‘We will do what is right,’ Xulu said, eyeing Ben with a glint of loathing. ‘And what General Khosa commands.’ With that, he marched through the smashed, twisted gates after his men. Walking towards the old gardener he shouted, ‘You! Yes, you! What is your name? Where are the children?’

The old man was either speechless with terror, or he was brave enough to refuse to answer, or he had no tongue. Either way, he stood there with wide eyes as Xulu strode imperiously up to him, and said nothing.

‘I SAID, WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN?’ Xulu screamed at him. When the old man still didn’t reply, Xulu tore his pistol from its holster and thrust it towards the old man’s face.

The shot went off with a sharp crack. But Xulu’s bullet went nowhere near the old man, because the captain was suddenly rolling in the dust, knocked half senseless. His pistol went flying out of his hand. Ben picked it up and stood over him.

‘Maybe I didn’t make myself clear before, Xulu,’ Ben said. ‘If you think I’m going to stand by and watch you murder a defenceless bystander, you need to pay more attention to what I say.’

Xulu staggered to his feet. ‘That is the second time you have struck me, soldier. There will not be a third time.’

‘If there is, you won’t be getting up again. You can bet on that.’ He tossed the pistol back to Xulu. ‘Stick that back in its holster. If I see it come out again, you’ll be spitting gold teeth for a week. Clear?’

Quivering with rage, Xulu thrust the weapon in his belt. Then he pointed a shaking finger at Ben and screamed to his soldiers, ‘Take him! Take him!’

A bunch of them closed in on Ben all at once. The first one to reach him was carrying a Chinese submachine gun on a sling around his neck. Ben sidestepped him, grabbed the weapon and jerked it so hard that the strap almost broke the soldier’s neck and sent him tumbling headlong to the ground, where a hard boot to the temple ensured that he’d stay a while. The second soldier had his legs swept out from under him by a scything kick, and Ben’s foot stamping down on his throat to put him out of the game. He wouldn’t be needing his AK-47 anymore, so Ben tore it from his fingers and used it to club the third with a smashing blow of its steel butt plate to the face, before the next guy swiftly got the same treatment and went down like an empty suit of clothing with a broken cheekbone. Four down, three seconds.

Then six more were coming at him. Ben’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t fight them all. But he could do some damage before they took him down. Plenty of damage. That was for sure.

The shot that rang out was from Xulu’s pistol, back in his hand now that he was safely surrounded by his men. Ben felt the bullet pass within an inch of his nose. He didn’t know if it was a deliberate miss, or whether Xulu was just a bad shot. It didn’t matter. He stopped, fists clenched, his legs locked in a low combat crouch. The soldiers formed a tightening ring around him.

‘I will kill you, white man!’ Xulu screamed, waving the gun. ‘I will blow out your brains!’

‘Then best get on with it, eh?’ Ben said.

Then Ben’s vision exploded in a white flash and he felt himself collapse to the ground. Xulu had shot him in the head.

But there had been no shot. Blinded by pain, Ben realised that he’d been clubbed from behind. He clutched his head, tried to get up, but fell back. It felt as if his skull was bursting apart. Flashes and zigzags of lightning danced in front of his eyes. He couldn’t see properly. There was a loud rushing in his ears.

Then another hard blow struck him in the jaw and sent him sprawling backwards. Before he blacked out he saw Xulu’s towering figure step away from him, grinning down a blurry golden grin.

Ben would never know how long he was unconscious for. Maybe five minutes, maybe thirty. When his eyes fluttered open, his vision was smeared out of focus. The first sensation he registered was the steely taste of blood in his mouth from where Xulu had kicked him. The second was a confused kaleidoscope of noise that took several seconds to come into focus before he realised it was the sound of rattling gunfire and screaming. He blinked his eyes, managed to prop himself up on one elbow where he lay in the dirt, and looked groggily around him at the scene unfolding like a bad dream.