by Tony Park
‘What?’
‘I love you, Emma.’
‘Whatever.’
Her father gave his orders and Sonja marvelled, again, at the transformation from the wreck he had been.
‘The first helicopter sortie, with two birds, will lift the recce platoon, with me leading it, to M’pacha airstrip, here.’ He used a long straight stick to point to the black ribbon on the ground to his right. ‘We catch the air force detachment asleep and we deal with the sentries as quickly as possible. Our intelligence tells us there is a Hind gunship there, two Mi-6 troop-carrying helos and three fixed-wing light aircraft. One and two sections destroy the aircraft with explosive charges and three and four sweep through the barracks. Understood?’
The officers and noncommissioned officers of the Caprivi Liberation Army – about thirty in total – sat and stood two deep in a semicircle around him and the mud map and models he had placed on the ground. They all nodded.
‘By this time Alpha and Bravo companies will already be in position, south of Katima Mulilo, here.’ He scribed a line along one side of the collection of wooden offcuts that represented the largest settlement in the Caprivi Strip. Several of the blocks had pieces of paper stuck to them, reminding the audience what they represented. ‘Key targets, in order, are the police station, government offices and the NBC broadcasting studios.’ He tapped each of the blocks in turn. The men in the audience nodded. ‘Charlie Company will move up in reserve and take and hold the Zambezi Shopping Centre.’
There were a few muttered jibes among the ranks as those in the lead companies ribbed their comrades who had the comparatively easier task of seizing the Pick n’ Pay supermarket and, no doubt, the nearby bottle store in the new low-rise shopping mall.
‘Enough,’ Hans said. There was silence. ‘We don’t know how long we’ll have to hold the town against counterattacks. The shopping centre will be our headquarters and our commissary for the duration of any siege. The core precinct we need to defend will stretch to here,’ he used his pointer again, ‘down the street to the broadcasting offices. We don’t need to hold the police station, but we do need to neutralise it, and empty its armoury so it’s of no use to the enemy.’
Sonja nodded to herself. The police station and government offices were on the road out of town that led to the Ngoma border crossing with Botswana, on the Zambezi River, about a kilometre from the main commercial strip of the town. She looked over at Steele and saw he was making notes.
‘Delta Company,’ her father continued, ‘will lay an ambush on the B8, covering the main road on the Kongola side of Katima Mulilo. If the enemy sends a reaction force by road, it can only come from that direction. Questions?’
Steele looked up from his notebook. ‘It’s a good plan, Hans, for taking and holding the town, but what about breaking out, if things go according to plan – pushing down the strip towards Kongola and even Divundu?’
Kurtz’s mouth creased in annoyance.
‘Well, Martin, if we hadn’t been forced by circumstances outside our control to launch this mission earlier than planned, we would have had time to recruit and train enough troops to take over more of the Caprivi. I know what the rush is all about – your rich safari operators are worried the hydro-electricity plant is going to be completed ahead of schedule and the Namibian government will be showing journalists around the world all these poor African people getting access to cheap electricity and pumps to irrigate their bone-dry fields. Your backers can’t bear to think anyone might benefit from the dam, and you’re blackmailing us into launching now because we need the heavy weapons and ammo those fat cats are paying for. As it is – and I don’t need to remind you – our infantry companies are companies in name only. They’re little more than platoon-plus groupings. I’ve got enough men to take and hold Katima, and put M’pacha out of operation, but that’s about it.’
Her father looked away from Steele and swept his men with his green eyes. ‘Remember, men, this war is as much about politics as it is guns and bullets. Every day we hold Katima Mulilo is another day that strengthens the legitimacy of our claim on our homeland. If we can fight off the inevitable counterattacks then the Namibians will have to negotiate with our political leaders. We are buying them a seat at the government’s table, and we need to buy them time, as well. The world, too, will be watching us, thanks to our friends here.’ He pointed at Rickards and Sam with his stick. ‘I do not need to tell you all that the majority of the people in Katima Mulilo are your people – your family in some cases – so every care must be taken to avoid civilian casualties. Rest assured, gentleman, that if one of your men does mistreat, wound or kill a local, then our representatives of the media will see it and film it. Likewise, Mr Rickards and Mr Chapman are not to be harmed or mistreated in any way.’
Sonja was mad at Sam for staying, and terribly afraid for his safety, but she had failed to convince him to run. She didn’t think he was being brave or noble – just stupid.
She’d gone to him, the day after they’d made love, and sat with him in private by the banks of the river. She’d told him that she had enjoyed the night before but that she did not love him. She told him she did not want to live in the United States or take her daughter there, and that she would not be the kept woman of a TV star. She wanted, she said, to continue working as a military contractor rather than living the life of a courtesan.
He’d remained silent, tossed a rock into the water, got up and walked away from her. She’d hugged her knees and swallowed back her tears. She was angry her lies had failed to convince him.
‘Men,’ her father said, his voice rising as he drew her back to the present, ‘in this world divided by hatred and fear and ignorance and intolerance, you are about to fight for the two things that are, above all, sacred to any warrior, and the only things truly worth fighting for. You leave here to fight for freedom and for your homeland. May your God and your families, past, present and future, be with you all and keep you safe. Caprivi!’
‘CAPRIVI!’
*
Most of the CLA soldiers left straight after her father’s morning briefing. They had a long way to travel, out of the Linyanti swamps by mekoro to the border with Namibia. There they would lie up for the afternoon before sneaking across when it became dark. From there they would move to their assault positions.
Hans was talking to a young man with lieutenant’s pips on the epaulettes of his camouflage shirt. He was laden with a pack, water bottles, and an AK-47. Her father clapped the man on the arm and sent him on his way. She wondered if he was going to his death.
‘Hello,’ she said.
Hans nodded. ‘Hello.’
She looked him in the eye. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘I spoke to Miriam. She told me what happened to you.’
He nodded and pulled a cigarette packet from his pocket and offered it to her. She took one and he lit it for her, then one for himself. ‘So many bad things you’ve inherited from me.’
She tried a small smile. ‘And some not so bad ones. I’m a good shot.’
‘Sometimes I wish I’d died in the war against SWAPO.’
‘No,’ she said, exhaling. ‘You can’t say that. You got us to safety, to Botswana, and it was an OK place for me to finish growing up, in peace.’
‘It didn’t work,’ he sighed. ‘You still went off in search of a war. Because of me.’
‘I probably would have gone even if things hadn’t ended the way they did between us. I wished you dead for a long time.’
He nodded and drew on his cigarette.
‘But I’ve been to some of the places where you went,’ Sonja said. ‘I know about the nightmares, and if I hadn’t been pregnant with Emma I might have tried to drink my problems away, like you did.’
‘Tell me about your daughter. About Emma.’
She nodded. ‘She’s a handful. She doesn’t like me, most of the time. She hates that I’m away so much. I remember missing you, d
uring the war years, when you were away.’
‘Sit,’ he said. They moved to a log and sat beside each other. ‘I gave up the right to give you advice years ago, but you know what I’m going to say to you, about her, don’t you?’
Sonja nodded. ‘Go to her. Give up this life. I know you think I’m wrong doing what I do, but I’m working for her – for Emma – for her future.’
‘It won’t be much of a future if she hasn’t got a mom, Sonja. Anyway, it’s not you being a mercenary that I’m worried about right now. We have bigger problems.’
It might have been the nerves, but the cigarette was tasting vile. She ground it out and put the butt in her pocket. When she looked up she saw her father smiling at the action. ‘We do have bigger problems. We need to talk about this plan.’
‘Agreed,’ he said, pinching off the end of his cigarette and doing the same. ‘But first I need to know something.’
She looked at him. ‘What?’
‘Will you please be my daughter again?’
Sonja shrugged. ‘I can’t say I love you, if that’s what you want, or even that I forgive you. Not yet. But I never stopped being your daughter. And I think I understand, a little, of what you went through, though it excuses nothing.’
He placed his hand on her knee, and she didn’t recoil from his sandpapery touch. She swallowed hard, then placed her hand on his.
‘That will do me for now, Sonja.’
‘The plan,’ she said, ‘to take Caprivi. It’s not going to work. Stirling’s already tipped off the Namibian government that there’s going to be an attack on the dam.’
He grinned at her and his eyes glittered. ‘I knew someone would talk. This is the worst kept secret in Africa.’
‘We’ve got a lot to talk through,’ Sonja said, ‘but first, tell me what you know about this supposed roving missionary, Sydney Chipchase.’
His look changed. ‘I can tell you everything about that murderous bastard.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
The bush raced past her dangling feet, seemingly close enough for the toes of her boots to brush the tops of the trees. She watched the long, dry yellow grass flatten in waves as the helicopter’s downwash passed over it. The air blowing in through the open door cooled her face and chilled the sweat that lingered under her black long-sleeve T-shirt and matching jeans.
Beside her in the Bell 412 were Gideon, in the green overalls of an ambulance paramedic, and two other CLA soldiers dressed as Namibian policemen.
The afternoon sun burned red as it was engulfed by the layer of dust that hung above the horizon. She saw the Okavango ahead, the river the colour of blood.
‘Two minutes.’ The pilot’s voice crackled in the headphones she wore. She held up two fingers to Gideon and his comrades and they all nodded and flashed the V sign back to her in acknowledgement, grinning to hide their nerves.
Sonja checked the GPS on her wrist and confirmed they were approaching the landing zone. She yanked back the cocking handle of her AK-47 and the others copied her. She looked at Gideon and winked. He smiled. She grabbed the carrying handle of her pack as she felt the nose of the helicopter rise and the machine’s airspeed drop as the pilot flared her. She pulled off her headset and dropped it on the nylon troop seat beside her, then swung her legs out into the slipstream.
‘Go! Go! Go!’ The pilot yelled over the scream of the jet engine. Sonja’s feet were already on the right skid. She dragged the pack off the floor and stepped off. She took three paces and dropped to her belly, facing out into the long grass down the barrel of her assault rifle, which rested on her rucksack. She scanned the bush at the fringes of the LZ and felt the tingle and jolt of the adrenaline pumping her heart faster. Behind her she heard the change in engine pitch as the helicopter started to climb, then felt the loose twigs, grass and small rocks sandblast her back through the thin fabric of the T-shirt.
Silence.
She looked behind her and Gideon gave her the thumbs-up. She stood and grunted as she hefted the pack onto her back. Gideon had wanted to carry the explosive charges, but Sonja wouldn’t hear of it. She strode off the clearing into the bush, setting a brisk pace as the men fell in behind her.
The soft sounds of the bush replaced the alien clatter of the helicopter as Africa’s night creatures slowly came to life. Sonja checked the red-lit face of her GPS and made a small correction to their route. She waved Gideon forward. Sonja would navigate and Gideon would take over as the lead scout, watching for people and animals. Sonja pointed ahead, slightly to their left, and Gideon nodded and moved off.
A Scops owl gave a high-pitched brrr, brrr, as it called to a nearby mate, and Sonja found the sound went a small way towards comforting her nerves. She wasn’t scared, but all her senses were on edge as she waited for the adrenaline rush of the landing to slowly subside. They were in the Bwabwata National Park, two kilometres south of the main tarred B8, and four east of the military and police checkpoints on the bridge and crossroads at Divundu. According to their maps and the Caprivian soldiers’ local knowledge there were no villages in the area, but there was still the remote but dangerous chance they might come across poachers. Of greater worry was the presence of wild animals, particularly lion and leopard, which were more active at night, or elephant and buffalo, which she knew could be even more dangerous if surprised by humans.
Gideon held up a hand and Sonja stopped and mirrored the field signal so the men behind her would see it. One of them stumbled and nearly fell against her. She looked back in annoyance. They were not as well trained or bush-savvy as Gideon, it seemed. Gideon caught her eye and cupped a hand to his left ear. She heard the rustling in the bush and raised her AK to her shoulder, staring down the barrel into the darkness. Her thumb rested on the safety catch.
It – or he – was making a hell of a racket. Her right index finger slid inside the rifle’s trigger guard. It wouldn’t be an elephant, she told herself, as despite their size the giant beasts moved on their thickly padded feet with uncanny silence. Buffalo? she wondered. Or a man?
She drew in her breath as the snapping of twigs and brushing of leaves grew louder. Perhaps it was more than one man.
Gideon looked back and grinned broadly. Sonja craned her head and saw the two porcupines. They waddled like a pair of short fat brides with spiky trains trailing behind them. With their rear-most spines extended each animal was over a metre long. Stealth was no defence for the porcupine and their spines scraped along whatever lay on either side of their path.
Sonja exhaled and turned and smiled at the men behind her, who had been wide-eyed with fear just a few moments earlier when Gideon had called the halt. Gideon led off.
Her back was damp with sweat and her shoulders ached, but Sonja forced herself to remain alert, and watched every footfall to ensure she didn’t make as much noise as a porcupine. Gideon called another halt when they heard a vehicle engine. It sounded like a large lorry, she thought, and her GPS told her they were less than a kilometre from the road. She stopped and whispered to the men behind her to take off their packs and to sit. Sonja and Gideon also shrugged off their loads and, after warning the other two to keep watch for their return, she and the veteran guerilla moved off at a faster, but still cautious pace towards the road. The cool night air chilled her wet back, and it was a relief to be rid of the weight. She felt light on her feet and her heart started beating faster again as the bush thinned in front of her.
She checked the GPS and motioned for Gideon to turn a few degrees to the east. ‘It should be just ahead … a hundred metres,’ she whispered.
‘There,’ Gideon said a couple of minutes later. Sonja had to look hard to see the Namibian Police Force bakkie parked under the overhanging branches of a large tree and covered in a camouflage net laced with fake plastic leaves. A little further on, past the hidden vehicle, she saw the ribbon of tar road on the far side of thirty metres of cleared ground where the long grass had been scythed.
Sonja and Gideon lay down and watc
hed and listened, to make sure they were alone.
‘I will go back, for your pack. You stay here,’ Gideon said after a few minutes of silence.
Gideon returned with the other two and set the explosives down. Sonja pulled a satellite phone handset from her pocket. She dialled Martin Steele’s number.
‘Yes,’ was all he said.
‘Tiger,’ she said. ‘White.’ Tiger was the code word to let Steele and the Caprivian commander know that Sonja and her team were in position. The colour white told Steele that she was safe and not under duress.
‘Acknowledged. ETA is three; I say again, ETA is three.’
‘Acknowledged,’ she replied, then ended the call. She clicked her fingers to attract Gideon’s attention, as he had been looking down the road. ‘The mobile clinic ambulance will be here in one and a half hours.’
Gideon nodded. Under the code she had worked out with Martin he would double the estimated time of arrival of the vehicle. The CLA had a watcher posted in Kongola and his job was to call headquarters as soon as the mobile clinic passed through the police and veterinary checkpoint on the Kwando River.
Half an hour later, Sonja stood and did some quick stretches. ‘Get up,’ she said to the men dressed as police officers. One was dozing so she nudged him with the toe of her boot. As he woke he involuntarily lifted the barrel of his AK-47. Sonja snatched the flash suppressor and pushed it down. ‘Take your finger off that fucking trigger. Do you want to get us all killed?’
Defiance glittered in the man’s eyes at being spoken to in such a way by a woman, but he lowered his gaze when he saw Gideon, standing beside her, shaking his head like an angry bull elephant. Sonja extended a hand to the man and he took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet.
‘Get the net off the bakkie and move into position,’ she said.
‘It’s early,’ the sleeping man said, checking his watch.
‘Do as she says,’ Gideon commanded.
The other fake policeman raised a hand. ‘Quiet.’ He pointed. ‘Vehicle coming.’ They all turned to the east and saw the approaching headlights.