The last thing Ben wanted to do was impart any martial ability to Khosa’s fighters. He’d already had a taster of how they’d go on to deploy those skills. He couldn’t have that on his conscience.
‘We need to start by working on their physical conditioning,’ he told Khosa.
‘They are not in good condition?’
‘Frankly? They’re an embarrassment to you, General. We wouldn’t have allowed such a lack of basic fitness in the regular British army, let alone Special Forces.’ Ben pointed. ‘Look at that one over there, in the blue T-shirt. He can barely hold up his weapon. He’s so out of shape it’s a wonder he hasn’t died of a heart attack already.’
It wasn’t true. The guy Ben had singled out for criticism had fabulous muscle definition and looked as if he could probably run ten miles in full kit and fight a battle at the end of it. But the appeal to Khosa’s ego worked like a charm. The General scratched his chin pensively, reflected for a few moments and then declared, ‘I see what you mean, soldier. This is very bad. Then it is decided. From now on all my fighters will be subject to the full fitness training that British SAS soldiers receive.’
And so, with Khosa’s full endorsement, as the first and only order of the day, Ben and his co-military advisors got the troops running. Weapons were stacked in the trucks, where they could do no harm for the moment. There were grumbles as the men reluctantly removed the ammo belts they loved to drape around themselves. No image-conscious militia fighter could be seen in public without his necklace of shiny Russian 7.62x39mm rifle rounds to show everyone what a big man he was.
‘We’ll start with a jog around the city,’ Ben ordered. ‘Let’s take it nice and easy to break them in. Say, six miles, nine minutes a mile, back here in just under an hour. The APC can lead the circuit. I’ll head up the runners. Jeff?’
‘Could do with blowing out the cobwebs,’ Jeff said.
‘And me,’ Tuesday said.
‘Think the leg will hold up okay?’ Ben asked.
‘Don’t you worry about my leg,’ Tuesday said defensively.
Ben turned to Xulu. ‘Care to join us, Captain? Look like you could run off a little weight.’
Xulu sucked in his paunch and replied with a scornful scowl. He clearly had better things to do. Or else perhaps he didn’t want to show himself up in front of his men. Rather than risk collapsing in a wheezing heap for all to see, he insisted on riding up front in the armoured personnel carrier.
The APC rumbled off at a pace somewhere between a jog and a run, Xulu glowering back at them from the rear window. Ben and Jeff set off behind it in easy strides and the long column of men followed, with Tuesday acting as drill sergeant to giddy-up any slackers. Ben had always enjoyed running, and took in a ten-miler whenever he could. It felt good to get the heart working and open the airways. Running helped him focus, and at this moment he had a lot of thinking to do.
‘You don’t really want to whip this lot into shape,’ Jeff said, jogging along at his side.
Ben glanced back over his shoulder at the long, winding tail of the column. He could see Tuesday keeping pace at their flank, with no sign of a limp. The reason Tuesday had never made it into the SAS was the serious leg fracture he’d suffered during pre-selection training in the Brecon Beacons, causing him to be invalided out of the forces. He tended to be a little reactive when asked about it. Ben admired the younger man for his toughness and pride, but he sometimes worried that the leg still hurt Tuesday more than he would admit.
‘Not in a million years,’ Ben replied to Jeff’s question.
‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Play for time, play it cool for the moment, let Khosa think we’re cooperating, and hope we can figure something out.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s the best I’ve come up with so far.’
Ben’s other purpose for the six-mile run was to scope out the city, get to know the lay of the land, and start creating a map in his mind. Their route took them back past the huge construction zone and the legion of Chinese workers toiling to knock up streets and buildings as if there were no tomorrow.
‘I don’t get it,’ Jeff said. ‘What are they doing here?’
‘Nor me,’ Ben said. ‘Not yet.’
As the troops ran, they spontaneously broke into song. Loud and proud, like US Marines in drill training, but surprisingly melodic and tuneful compared to the macho braying of a hundred beefy Americans.
‘Jua limechomoko, wajeshi weee
Kimbia muchaka
Askari eee vita wi yeye
Anasonga corporal, sergeant, platoon commander
Anavaa kombati, boti, kibuyu ya maji’
‘The sun is coming out, o soldiers
Go and run
A soldier’s life is war
He rises from corporal to sergeant to platoon commander
He wears a uniform, boots and a water flask’
When they got back to the training ground, Khosa and his gleaming Range Rover had gone. So had Colonel Dizolele; and Captain Xulu grasped the opportunity to assume command.
‘We are preparing for war,’ he told Ben angrily. ‘Not training for the Olympics. Enough of this stupid running. It is a waste of time and resources. These men must be taught to kill. This is meant to be your job.’
‘Perhaps they’d like a demonstration,’ Ben said, looking him in the eye.
Xulu cleared his throat nervously and stepped away, but if he was scared he recovered fast. ‘Yes. A demonstration. That is a good idea.’ He snapped his fingers, and one of his junior officers hurried to his side. Without taking his eyes off Ben, Xulu barked ‘Lieutenant Umutese! How many prisoners do we have in the jail?’
The lieutenant replied instantly, ‘Seven deserters that we caught this month, two men who were heard plotting against General Khosa, four Tutsi spies who infiltrated the army, and one man who stole sugar from the food store.’
Xulu nodded. ‘Good. Lieutenant, take five men and ride back into town in a truck. Go to the jail and bring me the two traitors and two of the cockroaches. Be quick.’ The lieutenant snapped a salute and ran for one of the trucks, waving and yelling at five of the men to come with him.
‘He’d better not be doing what I think he is,’ Jeff muttered.
Ben said nothing. The sun beat implacably down on his head. He was tired, not from the run. Just tired. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted a drink. He wanted to see Jude again and get him out of this mess and go home.
Twenty minutes later, they found out exactly what Xulu’s intentions were, and it was no surprise. The returning truck rolled to a halt in a dust cloud. The lieutenant and his five troopers marched the four miserable prisoners out of the back, fresh from whatever jail they’d been locked up in, and they were paraded in front of Xulu. Their heads were hanging. They knew what was coming. So did Ben, but he was powerless to stop it.
The five hundred troops had reassembled into a milling crowd on the training ground, some weary from the six-mile run, others fresh and ready for another. Their skin was gleaming and their clothes patched with sweat. The buzz of chatter died down as they caught sight of the prisoners being lined up, and anticipation began to mount.
Xulu addressed the men with his chest pouted and his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Leopards! You are privileged to fight for General Khosa, our father and the saviour of our beloved country. Many of you have served in battle and killed our enemies. But some of you have not had this honour, like a boy who has not yet been with a woman. If there are fighters here who have not tasted the blood of our enemies for themselves, do not be ashamed. Put up your hands and step forward!’
After a few moments’ hesitation and murmur, some fifty men shuffled bashfully from the crowd with their arms raised. Most of them were under twenty, some barely in their teens.
Xulu beamed at them. ‘Today, young warriors, is the first day of your advanced military training. You have already shown courage and loyalty. Now you learn to kill.’
At a wave from his captain, Lieutenant Umutese had the prisoners marched across the training ground to the perimeter fence. One of them tried to break away, and made it a few stumbling steps before he was tackled by two soldiers and dragged, kicking and screaming, to join the other condemned men. They flung him against the wire mesh and stepped back.
‘These men are your enemies!’ Xulu yelled in a voice hoarse with excitement, pointing an accusing finger at the four. ‘They have been disloyal to General Khosa! They have plotted against him and planned his assassination! They must die!’ He turned his pointing hand towards the fifty or so fighters who had stepped forward, and picked out four of them at random. ‘You, you, you and you! Come here. Lieutenant Umutese, give them weapons.’
None of the chosen four members of Khosa’s elite regiment could have been more than fifteen years of age. Two of them, one in particular, seemed eager to participate in their blooding. The other two looked much less sure of themselves as AK-47s from the stack of weapons were pressed into their hands.
Xulu thrust his pointing finger back towards the terrified prisoners. His gold teeth glinted in the sun. ‘Aim your weapons and kill them!’
Ben had seen enough.
Chapter 14
It didn’t matter to Ben that those about to die weren’t his friends. He’d seen so much blood spilled already at the hands of Khosa’s army that he could stand to see no more – not on his watch, at any rate. And not spilled by children. He strode up to Xulu, pressed a hand to the captain’s pointing arm and firmly lowered it.
Xulu stared at him in astonishment. A stunned silence fell over the assembled troops. The only sound was the gibbering of one of the prisoners, who had fallen to his knees by the wire fence. The other three were silent, seemingly accepting of their fate. At least shooting was quicker than being hacked to bits by blunt machetes.
‘There aren’t going to be any executions in this army,’ Ben said to Xulu, quietly, so that the soldiers wouldn’t hear. ‘Not while I’m the General’s military advisor. You made your point. Fun’s over. So tell those boys to stand down, nice and easy, and let these poor bastards live.’
Xulu’s face was a trembling mask of rage. His eyes boggled at Ben and he could barely talk for indignation. ‘You speak to me this way in front of my own men?’
‘Is there some other way to speak to a sadistic moron who enjoys watching unarmed men being executed in cold blood?’ Ben said. ‘Would you understand that better, Xulu? If so, just let me know and I’ll be sure to speak that way instead.’
‘I will report this to General Khosa,’ Xulu hissed.
‘Of course you will. That’s the first thing any maggoty little snitch would do. But in the meantime, Khosa’s not here to protect you. It’s just you and me. So either give that order to stand down, or I’ll do it myself. Then I’ll explain to Khosa that this isn’t how things are done in a proper army.’
The prisoner was still blubbering in terror. The firing squad were still uncertainly aiming their weapons, but with their eyes off the condemned men and turned questioningly towards their captain. Their captain, however, was too busy staring speechlessly at the taller blond-haired white man to give them any direction.
‘Can’t make a decision?’ Ben said. ‘You’re an unworthy officer, Xulu. You’re not fit to captain a fishing boat, let alone a military unit. I’m taking over command here.’ He addressed the firing squad and yelled, ‘Lower your weapons!’ Then repeated it in Swahili, to make the command doubly clear. The youngsters hesitated, but did what they were told.
‘I knew,’ Xulu said, looking at Ben with narrowed eyes and nodding to himself with quiet triumph, as though he’d been vindicated. ‘I was sure of it, and now I know I was right. You are a coward, soldier. You are not a warrior at all. What kind of warrior is afraid of blood?’
Ben looked at him calmly for a second or two. Then he punched him in the mouth, fast and straight.
It wasn’t a hard blow. Not enough to take his head off his shoulders, or even to knock him out. But it was enough to mash Xulu’s lips against his gold teeth and spray blood all over his chin and the front of his uniform. Xulu went down on his backside and sat there in the dirt, touching a hand to his burst lips and gaping in horror at the red on his fingers. One of his gold teeth had come loose and was lying on the ground next to him.
Jeff and Tuesday were staring at Ben. So much for playing it cool and pretending to be cooperating, Jeff must have been thinking.
‘I have no problem whatsoever with blood,’ Ben told Xulu. ‘If it belongs to the right person. You wanted to see some, there you have it. Now get up on your feet and try to act like a man for a change.’
Xulu struggled upright with a hand clamped to his bleeding mouth. He fired a look of hatred at Ben and beat his inglorious retreat to the armoured personnel carrier, gesticulating at the soldiers and leaving a trail of blood spots on the ground as he went. He disappeared inside the hatch and the vehicle took off with a roar.
‘There goes our ride,’ Jeff said.
Tuesday watched the APC go off into the distance, back towards the city. ‘You’ve made a friend there, Ben,’ he commented. ‘He can’t get back to the city soon enough, and the second he does he’s going straight to Khosa. Just like he said he would.’
‘I’m not worried about it,’ Ben said, and he meant it. Khosa wasn’t going to harm Jude over a minor infraction. For as long as he believed his captives were of use to him, his hostage was too precious a commodity to sacrifice for the likes of Xulu.
Ben’s judgement was right, in that respect. But he soon discovered that he’d been wrong not to worry.
A squad of Khosa’s personal guard was waiting for them back at the hotel. Stepping down from the truck with Jeff and Tuesday, Ben found himself under arrest. Resistance would have been foolish. With six Chinese submachine guns at his back, he was marched inside the building and taken down a series of corridors to a ground-floor office he hadn’t seen before. A male secretary in khakis was one-finger-typing on an antique PC at a corner desk.
Seated behind a larger desk in the middle of the room, hands laid flat in front of him and drumming his fingers on the tabletop, was Khosa. At Khosa’s right stood Xulu, with a lower lip crusted in black blood and so swollen that he could hardly manage a twisted leer of satisfaction.
Ben had faced disciplinary proceedings before now. He walked into the room wearing the same brass face he’d worn when grilled by SAS superiors after the Basra affair, among other acts of insubordination that had dotted, and occasionally threatened to mar, his military career. He stopped a foot from the table. There was a chair, but he wasn’t invited to sit and remained standing. He looked coolly at Khosa, ignoring Xulu and the rest of the soldiers.
The General got right to the point. ‘Captain Xulu has filed a formal complaint against you, soldier. He claims that you disobeyed a direct command, and struck him. Is this true?’
‘It’s only half true,’ Ben said. ‘I disobeyed no command. I acted to prevent him from carrying out an order that I considered immoral and unsoldierly. Then I knocked his bloody teeth out. Which I’ll do again, as often as necessary, as part of my task to turn this rabble of yours into a proper army. I won’t be a party to acts of unwarranted cruelty against unarmed and defenceless prisoners.’
Khosa drummed his fingers some more, pursed his lips, glanced up at Xulu, then let out a heavy sigh. ‘I am displeased, soldier. Displeased, and disappointed. You are still new here. I can understand that our methods are unfamiliar to you, but such displays of disobedience are bad for the morale of my men, and cannot be tolerated. Perhaps the punishment I have in mind for you will teach you to show more respect towards your superiors.’
‘I don’t consider Captain Xulu my superior,’ Ben said. ‘I consider him a worthless piece of shit who will get what’s coming to him too.’
‘Then what is needed here, soldier, is a lesson in humility. I hope for your sake that you learn from it. Take him aw
ay.’
The soldiers took Ben’s arms and wheeled him out of the room and back up the corridor. He could have taken the whole bunch of them down with his bare hands and then used their own weapons on them to make sure they didn’t get up again. Instead he bit his tongue and let himself be marched along. He still refused to believe that Khosa would hurt Jude for this. The hurt would be on him alone. They would probably beat him. Fists, sticks, or a whip, he didn’t care. He would take their hurt without a word, and when the time was right he would revisit it on them a hundredfold.
They took him outside through a side exit, into a bare brick alleyway where an open-backed Toyota technical was waiting. One of the soldiers produced a black cloth hood, grinning. He rammed it down over Ben’s head, and then they bundled him roughly into the back of the pickup truck. He felt the suspension rock as they clambered aboard with him. Then felt the hard kiss of gun muzzles pressing against his chest and head. The engine roared, and the vehicle took off.
If they planned to beat him half to death, they apparently intended to do it somewhere private. Somewhere they didn’t want him to see the way to. Twice the vehicle slowed to a crawl, each time Ben heard voices and the clatter of gates. They were taking him outside the perimeter, but he couldn’t understand why.
He counted the minutes: at least twenty of them passed by before the vehicle crunched to a halt for the third time, rough hands dragged him out of the back and dumped him on the ground. The soldiers laughed as they kicked and shoved him across what felt like ten or fifteen yards of stony earth. Then one of them whipped the hood from his head, and he caught a glimpse of a large, gaping hole in the ground in front of him before a powerful shove from behind drove him down into it. He fell, slithering, twisting, fingers raking through loose soil for a grip. The hole seemed to swallow him up as he fell deeper and deeper, desperately digging his knees and elbows into its sides to try to slow himself down. For a few instants he thought he was going to keep falling forever; then he hit the solid bottom with a thump that drove the air from his lungs. He blinked dirt out of his eyes, gasping, and looked up at the circle of sky at the mouth of the hole. He’d fallen maybe twenty feet. A couple of faces peered down at him, and he heard laughter.
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