Star of Africa

Chapter 48

Ben was woken by the sounds of activity outside. He opened his eyes and sat up, stiff and aching. The first light of dawn was creeping in through the doorway.

Another day. Ben already knew it wasn’t going to be a good one.

The night sentries were gone, replaced by a fresh guard of Khosa’s men standing inside the building and another three outside, all cradling rifles in their arms except for the fat soldier with the shotgun, who seemed to be in charge. The middle of his face was plastered with a dressing, and to Ben’s pleasure the bruising had spread outwards from his busted nose and his eyes had swollen to the size of pears. He could barely open them wide enough to shoot vengeful looks at Hercules, who was still sleeping on the floor a few yards from Tuesday and Gerber. Jeff was already awake, sitting against a wall. He gave a dark smile. ‘Morning, chief. How was your night?’

Ben gathered himself up to his feet and approached the doorway, watched every step by the guards. Outside in the red dawn, the soldiers who weren’t on sentry duty were busily refuelling the Dakota from the second tank on the truck trailer. The whole base was swarming with preparation for the onward journey.

‘How about getting us some coffee?’ Ben said to the fat soldier, but all he got in reply was a surly look. Then the nose picker came bustling into the building, shouting, ‘Awake! Awake! Up! Up!’ His English vocabulary might have been limited, but he could use it to good effect.

Within moments, the five prisoners were hustled outside. Hercules yawned and stretched his big arms, then very deliberately passed within a step of the fat soldier, paused to give him a contemptuous stare and then suddenly tensed as if he was about to hit him again. The fat soldier flinched away like a beaten dog. Five rifles were instantly pointing at Hercules and the air was filled with nervy shouting and yelling.

‘Easy, brother,’ Gerber said softly, putting a hand on Hercules’s broad back. Hercules gave the fat soldier a nasty smile and then walked on through the doorway.

The burning heat of the new day hadn’t started bearing down yet, but it soon would. Stepping into the dawn light, Ben saw that Jude was already outside, flanked by the two exhausted-looking guards who had evidently been sitting awake all night watching him like hawks, kept awake by their terror of what their commander would do to them if the prisoner escaped. By comparison to them, Jude looked as fresh as a daisy.

Eat when you can, drink when you can, sleep when you can.

Jude was learning.

Moments later, Khosa himself emerged from the relative luxury of his own quarters, smoking another of his long cigars as his personal guard gathered round him. The General looked in high spirits, issuing commands here and there, rubbing his hands in expectation of an eventful and productive day ahead and surveying with satisfaction the bustling activities of his troops.

Even the most basic forward operating base runs on a minimum of kit. The men were busy collecting it all together into a stockpile next to the plane. Weapons, crates of ammunition, jerrycans, the portable cooking stove, pots and pans and mess tins and oil lamps, the medical first aid kit from which the fat soldier’s dressing must have come, the folding table and chair from Khosa’s quarters, plastic water jugs, more crates containing food and sundry other supplies. Soldiers were swarming like ants up and down the ladder to and from the open hatch of the Dakota, loading all the gear on board.

Ben walked across the compound towards Khosa, who saw him coming and turned. He smiled, smoke jetting from his nostrils.

‘Did you sleep well, soldier?’

‘Like a baby,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve been thinking, General. If we’re going to be soldiers in your army, then you have to equip us.’

‘I cannot allow you to be armed, soldier. I am not yet so sure I can trust you.’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of bootlaces,’ Ben said, pointing at his feet. ‘As well as uniforms. Jackets, at the very least. We need five of them. For me, for Jeff, for Jude, for Tuesday and for Gerber. Hercules already has one, and I don’t think you’d have anything in XXXL size anyway.’

Khosa considered Ben’s request with a grave nod, and then gave a sharp command to one of his personal guard. The soldier scurried over to the stockpile by the Dakota, rummaged through a crate and came scurrying back a few moments later with a set of laces and an armful of green and brown clothing. The uniforms were a mix of plain khaki and disruptive-pattern camouflage combat jackets that might have been raided from any cheap and nasty army surplus store in the world. Khosa inspected them before passing them on to Ben. ‘This is good thinking, soldier. Now you are becoming one of us. I am pleased.’

‘Get them on,’ Ben said as he handed the clothing out to Jude and the others. ‘It’s going to be a long and chilly flight.’ The one he picked out for himself was a DPM pattern jacket. It was old and tatty and greasy to the touch, but it had all the right button-down pockets in all the right places. You never knew what you might have to conceal in there, when the opportunity came.

Ten minutes later, Ben’s boots felt reassuringly tight again, the fuel pump had stopped pumping and it looked as if the old Dakota was ready for its long flight inland. Khosa issued his final orders to his air crews. Six men clambered into the Puma and the two Bell Iroquois, a pilot and co-pilot apiece. Khosa climbed the ladder to the aeroplane’s hatch and disappeared inside, followed by the Dakota pilot. Ben glimpsed the General through the co-pilot window of the cockpit, his eyes hidden behind mirrored shades and the cigar clenched in his teeth, talking animatedly to the pilot as the guy busied himself flipping switches and powering up the aeroplane.

Things moved quickly from there. The three helicopter turbines started up with a triple out-of-phase whine that grew into a lazy whap-whap-whap and then into a howling chorus as the rotors slowly picked up speed. Then one after another, the Dakota’s engines gave a wheezing cough from their starters and a puff of smoke, and then the big three-bladed propellers began to crank into motion. The clattering drone of the plane mingled with the rising howl of the choppers, until the whole base was filled with noise and wind and dust and the rich smell of exhaust fumes and, to Ben, the familiar tension and anticipation of an airborne squadron preparing for action.

The prisoners, now six again, now all clad in military jackets, were forced at gunpoint up the ladder and through the Dakota’s hatch. The aeroplane’s interior closely resembled that of the Puma that had brought them here, but on a much larger scale. Just like before, they found themselves being herded into a bare metal fuselage of bolted-together sections with exposed seams and fitted with facing rows of fold-down seats. Just like before, they were made to sit with the fat soldier, the nose picker and the skinny guy close by, guns at the ready, eyes never leaving them. Only this time, they were six and not seven. And this time, they were surrounded by a far greater enemy presence. Minus the half dozen men on board the choppers, minus Khosa and the pilot up front, that still left nearly thirty heavily armed soldiers to contend with. Ben and Jeff exchanged the same glances they had exchanged on board the Puma. But this time around, there was going to be no chance of taking over the aircraft in mid-air. No chance whatsoever.

The rumble and vibration of the engines resonated through the whole aircraft as the Dakota began to roll. The engines revved up to takeoff speed and Ben felt the acceleration press him sideways in his seat. It was a bumpy ride, and the faster the Dakota lurched and hammered over the uneven ground the bumpier it got, until they were being jolted out of their seats and everyone was clinging on tight to whatever support they could find.

Then, just as it seemed as though the lumbering dinosaur would never get off the ground, the crazy bumping ride suddenly smoothed off and Ben felt the stomach-sinking sensation as the Dakota gathered the wind beneath its wings and its wheels left the ground. And they were airborne.