All this would take a little time to produce but it shouldn’t be too difficult. Testing the finished product as a floating proposition would be interesting, and finding a way to push it along would stretch a few minds, but I didn’t really doubt that it could be done. And the final result, weird of shape and design, was going to win no prizes for elegance. I jiggled with a list of required materials; some of them were going to be hard to find if not impossible. All in all, I couldn’t see why on earth I was so confident that the plan would work.
‘We have to go up a stage, Ben,’ I said, still sketching. ‘Look at this.’
The hexagon is a very useful shape, ask any honey bee, but I doubt if it has been used much in naval architecture.
‘Start off assuming we’ve built an “A”-gon,’ I told Ben. That was how new words came into a language, I guess, though I didn’t think this one would last long enough to qualify for Webster’s Dictionary. Ben caught on and grinned in appreciation. ‘Here’s what comes next.’
Take an ‘A’-gon and float it in shallow water so that a man could stand on the bottom and still handle equipment. Float another six ‘A’-gons round it and fasten together the hexagons of the outer ring. There is no need to fasten the inner one because, like the first drum, it is totally surrounded and pressed in from all sides.
The result is a ‘B’ hexagon, a ‘B’-gon in our new nomenclature, with a positive buoyancy of ten and a half tons, enough to carry over a hundred people or a medium sized truck. We decided to make two of them, which is why we needed a hundred drums.
Hammond was impressed and fascinated. ‘How do we make the cages?’ he asked.
‘We’ll have to find timber and cut pieces to the exact size,’ I said. ‘That won’t be too difficult. I’m more concerned about finding planking to deck it, otherwise it’ll be unsafe to walk on. Nyalan women make good cordage, and we can lash the “A”-gon frames together, which will save nails. But I’m worried about the fastening of the larger “B”-gons. Rope and fibre won’t help us there. We need steel cable.’
‘I’ve got some,’ he offered, a shade reluctantly.
‘I don’t want to have to use that yet. We’ll figure out something else.’
I stood up. ‘It’s only four o’clock and I need some exercise. There’s two hours of daylight yet. Let’s go build us an “A”-gon.’
We were just leaving the office when Bing arrived back.
‘Mister Zimmerman says they’ve only found sixty-seven drums,’ he said.
At the compound we found Zimmerman, Kirilenko and Derek Grafton looking mucky with old oil and somewhat bad-tempered. It appeared that there were not many empty drums. Kironji seldom got them back, and these had not been placed neatly away from the full drums but stood all over the place. Here Kironji’s normal tidiness had deserted him, to our detriment. It didn’t help that neither Grafton nor Kirilenko knew why they had to find empty drums, and of the two only the Russian was equable about taking unexplained orders.
I commiserated with them and sent them off for a breather, after we’d rolled eight or nine drums down to the lake shore. Zimmerman stayed with us. Hammond left in search of Kironji, to get the workshop unlocked; he would cut some timber frameworks and we decided to use rope, which we knew was available, for the prototype ‘A’-gon.
‘I don’t see how we’re going to find enough empties,’ Zimmerman grumbled.
‘Ever hear about the guy who went into a store to buy some eggs? There was a sign up saying “Cracked Eggs Half Price”, so he asked them to crack him a dozen eggs.’
Zimmerman smiled weakly.
‘You mean empty out full drums?’
‘Why not? To start with we’ll fill every fuel tank we can with either gas or diesel, and all our spare jerrycans too. If there are still not enough drums we’ll dig a big pit somewhere well away from the camp and ditch the stuff. And put up a “No Smoking” notice.’
He realized I wasn’t joking and his jaw dropped. I suppose that as an oil man he was more used to getting the stuff out of the earth than to putting it back in. Then we were interrupted by Sam Kironji in his usual state of high indignation.
‘You cut trees! You use my saw. You never stop make trouble.’
I looked enquiringly at Sandy Bing who had raced in behind him. ‘Yes, Mister Mannix. Mister Hammond found a chain saw in the workshop. But it won’t be good for long. The teeth are nearly worn out and there’s no replacement.’
Kironji shook his head sadly. ‘You use my saw, you welcome. But you cut tree, you get in big trouble with Mister Nyama.’
‘Who’s he, Sam?’
‘Everybody know Mister Nyama. Big Government tree man. He cut many tree here, with big machine.’
I said, ‘Are you telling us that there’s a government logging camp near here?’
‘Sure.’
‘Well where, for God’s sake?’
Sam pointed along the lake. ‘One, two mile. They use our road.’
I recalled that the road led on past the compound, but I hadn’t given any thought as to where it went. A bad oversight on my part.
‘Chain saws,’ Zimmerman was saying, his voice rising to a chant of ecstasy, ‘Axes, felling axes, trimming axes, scrub cutters.’
‘Fantastic. Get off there right away. We’ve got enough drums to be going on with. Take some men, some of Sadiq’s if you have to. I’ll clear it with him. And Harry, plunder away; we’ll make everything good some time. Break in if you have to. My bet is that there’ll be nobody there anyhow.’
Zimmerman went off at a run and Kironji said dolefully, ‘You steal from Government, you steal from anybody.’
Hammond rejoiced at the good news and had some himself. ‘Found an oxyacetylene welding kit in there with a few bottles. And a three-and-a-half inch Myford lathe that’ll come in handy.’
‘Bit small, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll find a use for it. There’s another outboard engine, too, and some other useful bits and pieces.’
‘Take them,’ said Kironji hysterically. ‘No need you steal. I give.’
I chuckled. When he saw us pouring his precious gasolene into a hole in the ground he’d be a broken man. ‘Come on, let’s build our “A”-gon.’
It took six of us nearly two hours to build the prototype ‘A’-gon but then we were inventing as we went along. From the middle distance the Nyalans watched us and wondered. Our people came to watch and make comments. At last we wrestled it down to the water and to our relief it floated, if a trifle lopsidedly. We dragged it ashore again as the light was fading and Bing arrived to say that a meal was ready. I felt tired but surprisingly contented. This had been a fruitful day, I was careful not to dwell on the possible outcome of my plans.
After an unsatisfying meal everybody gathered round, and between us Hammond and I explained the basics of the scheme. We said little about the military side of the operation and discouraged questions. We concentrated on the more immediate goal, the building of the ‘B’-gons.
Grafton was sceptical, possibly because he’d had firsthand experience of the labour involved.
‘It took you two hours to make that thing. How many do you need?’
‘Fourteen for two “B”-gons. Possibly more.’
He looked appalled. ‘It’ll take days at that rate.’
‘Ever hear about Henry Ford’s biggest invention?’
‘The Model T?’
‘No, bigger than that. The assembly line.’
Hammond said at once. ‘Ford didn’t invent that. The Royal Navy had one going in Chatham in seventeen ninety-five for making ships’ blocks.’
‘I think the Egyptian wall paintings show something like an assembly line,’ put in Atheridge.
‘We won’t be chauvinistic about it,’ I said. ‘But that’s what we’re going to do. We build simple jigs, stakes driven into the sand will do, one at each corner to give the shape. Then the teams move along the rows. That’s the difference between this line and those in Cowley or Ch
icago. Each man goes along doing just one job. They lay down the bottom planking, put the drums on top, drop the side members between the stakes and make them fast. Then they put on a top and do likewise.’
They listened intently, and then Antoine Dufour spoke up. His English was good but heavily accented.
‘I have worked in such a place. I think it is better you take the Japanese model, piecework is no good here. You will have too many people moving about, getting confused perhaps. You want teams each in one place.’
It took very little rethinking to see that he was right, and I said so.
‘Great going, Antoine. It will be better that way. Each team builds one “A”-gon from the bottom up, complete. Another team to go along doling out material. Another one rolling the drums to them. And a couple of really strong teams to shift the finished “A”-gons to the water, probably towing them on mats. We’ve got rubber matting in the trucks.’
I looked at Dufour. ‘You say you’ve had some experience at this. How would you like to be in charge of the work teams, you and Dan?’
He considered and then nodded. ‘Yes. I will do it.’
His matter-of-fact acceptance of the feasibility of the programme did a lot to encourage the others. Questions and ideas flew about, with me taking notes. At last I held up a hand for silence.
‘Enough to go on with. Now let’s hear from Doctor Kat.’
The Doctor gave us a brief report on Lang and on Wingstead, who was sleeping soundly and would be none the worse as long as he was restrained for a few days. ‘Sister Mary is much better, and taking care of Mister Wingstead is the perfect job for her. She will keep him quiet.’
I hadn’t seen much of the senior nun but if she was anything like Sister Ursula there was no doubt that Geoff Wingstead would shut up and obey orders.
Of the other invalids, he said that as fast as they got one person on their feet so another would go down with exhaustion, sickness or accident. The rickety thatched wards were as busy as ever.
I turned to Harry Zimmerman.
‘Harry’s got some good news he’s been saving,’ I said.
‘We found a logging camp,’ he reported cheerfully. ‘We brought back two loads of equipment, in their trucks. Chain saws, axes, hammers, nails and screws, a whole lot of stuff like that. The big power saws are still there but they work.’
‘But you did even better than that, didn’t you?’ I prompted.
‘Yeah. Planks,’ he breathed happily.
‘We’ll be bringing in a load in the morning. That means our decking is sorted out, and that’s a big problem solved. And we can get all the struts for the cages cut to exact measurements in no time.’ The assembly responded with more enthusiasm than one might have thought possible, given how weary they all were.
‘It’s amazing,’ said Dr Marriot. ‘I saw your “A”-gon. Such a flimsy contraption.’
‘So is an eggshell flimsy, but they’ve taken one tied in a bag outside a submarine four hundred feet deep and it didn’t break. The “A”-gon’s strength lies in its stress factors.’
She said, ‘It’s your stress factors we have to think about,’ and got a laugh. Morale was improving.
The meeting over, we dispersed without any discussion about the proposed attack on the ferry for which all this was merely the prologue, and I was grateful. Those who were to be my fellow travellers in the boat stayed on to talk. We decided to move out by first light and return upriver in time to get cracking on the coming day’s work. Sadiq had been briefed and while not exactly enthusiastic he had agreed to come with us, to see the enemy for himself.
Later I lay back looking at the dark shape of the rig looming over us, a grotesque shape lit with the barest minimum of light. I wondered what the hell we were going to do with it. I had enough thinking to keep me awake all night long.
But when I hit the sack I didn’t know a thing until I felt Hammond gently awakening me, three hours before dawn.
TWENTY-FIVE
In the raw small hours we assembled at the pontoon, keeping our torches hooded and trying to keep quiet as we crossed the scrubby clearing. We couldn’t leave totally unobserved but this was a practice run for later on, when keeping quiet would be vital.
Overnight Hammond had had the boat baled out and the outboard tested and found to run as sweetly as any outboard does, which is to say fitfully and with the occasional lurch and stutter to give you a nervous leap of the pulse. There was ample fuel, a small fluke anchor and a rond anchor for digging into an earth bank if necessary, some water canteens and a couple of long coils of line.
We had found oars for the dinghy but only one rowlock so someone had cobbled up another out of a piece of scrap iron bent to shape in the lathe; this and its more shapely companion were wrapped in cloth to minimize noise. The best we could do for balers were old beer cans with the tops cut out.
The five of us made a pretty tight fit. Hammond and McGrath took the centre thwart to row us out, we’d only start the engine well away from shore, I as the lightest sat forward, and Zimmerman and Sadiq crowded onto the after thwart. It was going to be no pleasure jaunt.
‘What about crocodiles?’ Hammond asked.
Zimmerman, who’d had years in Africa, snorted. ‘Not a chance, Ben. They like shoaling water and they’ll be sluggish before dawn anyway. Lazy brutes. Why bother with a boat when the bank’s swarming with breakfast?’
Sadiq said gravely, ‘Mister Hammond, we need not fear the crocodiles. They seldom attack boats with an engine.’
McGrath said, grinning, ‘No, it’s the hippos we have to think about,’ giving Hammond another direction in which to cast his fears. I told him to lay off. What I didn’t say was that, being no sailor even of the Sunday-in-the-park variety, I had a strong conviction that this frail craft was likely to tip us out and drown us at any moment. When we pushed off and the chill water lapped at the gunwales I was certain of it.
We didn’t sink, of course, but we did get pretty wet about the feet and the face. After some time Hammond suggested that we start the outboard. This was achieved with only a few curses and false alarms. The little boat rocked wildly before the motor settled down to a welcome steady purr and we began to pick up some pace. We hugged the shoreline though not too close for fear of reed beds, and the light was beginning to allow us to distinguish details.
We were travelling with the current and so moved along swiftly. Hammond had calculated that we should arrive within sight of the ferry at about five o’clock, an hour before dawn. We would shut off the engine and slip along under oars until we could see the ferry point, then pull back upriver to find a concealed landing place. From there we’d reconnoitre on land.
‘What happens if the ferry’s on the far shore?’ Zimmerman asked.
‘We can cross in this thing and collect it. No sweat,’ Hammond said. ‘Come right a little, Mick.’
‘What about the ferry people?’ I said. ‘They aren’t simply going to lend us their craft, are they?’
‘No, more likely they’ll run it for us themselves, at a price.’
I’d been wondering who was going to handle the ferry. There would be a lot of local knowledge involved apart from familiarity with the craft itself. I said, ‘Good thinking. Once we’ve taken the ferry point here we send a delegation and get the ferry back in business—just for us.’
‘Well, it might work,’ said McGrath dubiously. His form of payment would probably be a gun at the pilot’s belly.
‘First let’s take the ferry,’ I said. Perhaps it would be held by about five men whom we could capture or rout with a minimum of fuss, but I doubted that it would be that easy.
There was no further talk as we cruised steadily on until we saw the shapes of man-made buildings along the bank. We had arrived, and it still lacked half an hour to dawn.
‘There it is,’ I whispered, pointing. Instantly Zimmerman cut the engine and we used the oars to hold us stemming the tide. Shapes were emerging but confusingly, all detail obscured. T
here was a huge dark shape in the water a hundred yards offshore that we couldn’t identify as yet. An island, perhaps? Hammond and McGrath back watered to keep us upstream while we scanned the shore anxiously for movement.
As all dawns do in central Africa, this one came in minutes. The air became grey and hazy, a shaft of early sunlight sprang out across the water and it was as if a veil had been lifted. Several voices whispered together.
‘It’s the ferry!’
She was anchored offshore, bobbing gently, a marvellous and welcome sight. She was big. Visions of a hand-poled pontoon, one-car sized and driven by chanting ferrymen, not at all an uncommon sight in Africa, receded thankfully from my mind. Kironji had said it took trucks, and trucks he meant. This thing would take several vehicles at one crossing. And there was something else about her profile in the watery light which nagged at me: a long low silhouette, bow doors slanted inwards to the waterline and a lumpy deck structure aft. She was a far cry from the sleek and sophisticated modern ferries of Europe.
We slid out from under the shadow of her bow and made rapidly for shore. Hammond rowed us out of sight of the ferry point and tucked into the bank in as secretive a spot as we could find, setting both anchors. We disembarked into the fringe of vegetation.
I looked to McGrath. He and Sadiq were the experts now, and I wasn’t sure which of the two was going to take command. But there wasn’t any doubt really; with assurance Sadiq started giving instructions, and McGrath took it with equanimity. I think he’d approved of Sadiq as a fighting man and was prepared to take his orders.
‘Mister Mannix, you and Mister Zimmerman come with me, please,’ Sadiq said. ‘Mister McGrath will take Mister Hammond. We are going towards the buildings. We three will take the further side, Mister McGrath the nearer. Nobody is to make any disturbance or touch anything. Observe closely. We must know how many men and officers are here, and what weapons they have. Where they keep the radio and telephone. What transport they have. The layout of the terrain. Whether there are people on the ferry, and what other boats there are.’
The Spoilers / Juggernaut Page 58