by Tony Park
They had climbed a dune that afforded them a view of the railway line and the sand road to Aus and Keetmanshoop so they would have plenty of advance warning of Peter’s arrival, or of a search party if for some reason he had been compromised or betrayed them.
Blake unstrapped the blanket and saddlebags from his mount and lay them on the sand, which was still warm from the day but would soon enough become chilly.
Claire had said little on the ride, staring straight ahead. What she had seen on the island had clearly left her shaken to the core. She came to him and he enfolded her in his arms.
‘You should rest,’ he said.
She looked up into his eyes. ‘I’m not some feeble creature, Blake. We have to do something.’
‘Peter’s going to –’
‘I know, I heard you two whispering. Peter’s going to find out about your precious Liesl and –’
‘Claire –’
Claire held up a hand. ‘It’s all right, Blake. What I mean is, I need to do something to help more than one pretty girl. I want horses, as many as you can find across the border in South Africa.’
‘I’m broke, Claire. I got separated from Jakob Morengo before he could pay me what he owed me, with your gold.’
‘I’ve got enough stashed at the farm for a hundred horses. That’s the last of it.’
Blake was fairly sure he loved this woman, but she had lied to him on more than one occasion. ‘You can’t have spent that much, buying farms in South West Africa.’
‘And building clinics for the natives and sinking boreholes for their villages. But, yes, you’re right,’ she said. ‘I had to dump close to half of the gold in Lüderitz Bay back in 1902.’
‘What happened?’
‘I’d paid a few stevedores to help me move the stuff off the ship from Delagoa Bay. They were transporting the boxes in a lighter, from ship to shore, and then into a wagon I’d bought. It was quite an exercise, let me tell you. Anyway, one of these scoundrels took a peek in one of the boxes, which he rightly reckoned were too heavy for artillery shells. He found the gold and threatened me so I shot him. That caused quite a commotion. The captain of the ship was a good man, loyal, a friend of my first husband. He was worried about the fact I’d just shot a man, and concerned the Landespolizei would come and start poking their noses around. The captain believed me when I said I was moving pirated ammunition. He wanted to scarper up the coast to Walvis Bay, British territory, and lie low, but I told him I needed to get ashore and tend to my wagon. He wasn’t happy, but I told him he could dump the stevedore’s body and the remaining crates in Lüderitz Bay. He was right to be worried as a port authority boat did come out to check on us, but by then the gold was at the bottom of the bay, between the mainland and Shark Island.’
Blake remembered how Claire had told Peter that she wanted to see the causeway, which had struck him as odd, and how when Peter had been talking to the sentry at the boom gate leading to Shark Island Claire had been snooping about the edge of the new land bridge, looking into the water. ‘Where the causeway is being built now?’
‘Yes. I always figured that the gold was safe enough where it was under the sea and that one day, when I needed it, I could make up some excuse as to why I’d have men in pearl divers’ underwater suits poking around on the bottom of the bay. The war and this island of death seem to have put an end to that plan – my loot’s buried under a few thousand tons of rock and dirt now.’
The temperature plummeted with the disappearance of the sun and through the cold night air and across the empty desert Blake heard the jingle of a horse’s bridle. He climbed the crest of the dune. ‘It’s Peter.’
Blake showed himself and Peter rode up the dune to them.
‘I found out what happened to Liesl,’ Peter said without preamble as he dismounted.
‘You did?’
‘I told Bofinger I knew her, that she was a maid on our farm at one time. I told him that she and I had been close. Bofinger said he could have her certified fit to be sent to a military brothel, but I told him I didn’t want that. He said he would say that she had venereal disease and recommend that she be sent to work on the railway. He said . . . he said death would come quicker that way and be kinder than dying of exposure or scurvy on the island or . . .’
‘I understand,’ Blake said. ‘How soon will she be moved?’
‘Bofinger says there is another shipment of prisoners due to be sent up the railway line in a week’s time. She will be among a group of fifty Nama men and women, the fittest alive on the island. She’ll survive until then as long as she can evade the guards.’
‘Thank you, Peter,’ Blake said.
‘Did he do all this for free?’ Claire asked.
Peter shook his head. ‘No, it took the last of my money. Blake, I saw her.’
Blake nodded. ‘I can’t let her die.’
‘Neither can I,’ Peter said.
Blake saw it in Peter’s eye. Liesl had an effect on men, usually from the moment she caught their eye. It was why Rassie had been right to keep her out of the bar in Upington, and why Blake had fallen for her. She was still so young, and she deserved none of the fates that lay in wait for her.
‘Will you two old buffalo bulls stop giving each other the eye, for goodness sake,’ Claire said, ‘and let’s think of a plan to save her.’
Chapter 48
The desert east of Lüderitz, Namibia, the present day
Joanne looked over her shoulder at Anja, seated in the back of her car as they sped along the blacktop through the desert. ‘Do you usually stay in Lüderitz?’
‘No,’ Anja said, ‘I’m based at Klein-Aus Vista when I’m working on the horse project.’
‘Cool, I’ll take you there just now.’
‘We have a car in Lüderitz,’ Nick said.
Joanne shook her head and checked her rear-view mirror. ‘We can go back for that later. I think it might be too risky right now. Scott and his thugs will be staking out your car, waiting for you. We need to get someplace where we can assess what’s happened and call the Namibian police in on this.’
‘That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard today.’ Anja exhaled. ‘I can’t believe someone shot at us in Lüderitz, at a national park.’
‘This is Africa, after all,’ Joanne said. She glanced back at Nick. ‘Bet you didn’t get too many “sniper shoots at tourists” stories on The Australian, hey.’
Nick thought about that for a moment. ‘Um, no. Not at all.’
They went over a hill and on the downward slope Nick heard and felt Joanne’s car start to chug as if the power was going off and on.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Joanne said. ‘Maybe one of the bullets hit my fuel tank or something.’
Nick leaned over a little to try to see the gauge. ‘How’s your fuel?’
‘I’ve got plenty,’ Joanne said, ‘it just seems to be coming and going to the engine.’
‘Maybe a fuel line was damaged?’ Nick didn’t really know much about cars. The engine’s note was rising and falling. He got out his phone.
‘What are you doing?’ Joanne asked.
‘Googling intermittent fuel flow.’
‘Seriously?’ Joanne said.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, keep an eye out behind us as well, in case that bloody ex-husband of mine has sent his old Koevoet boeties after us to finish you two off.’
Nick wasn’t, however, on Google. He was checking Facebook. He did a search, found the account he was looking for, hit the ‘Friends’ button and scrolled down. Nick sent an email to Anja, whose phone pinged beside him.
‘Keep reading and translating, please, Anja,’ Joanne said. ‘I can’t get enough of this story.’
‘OK,’ she said.
Near Aus, German South West Africa, 1906
A week after they had vi
sited Shark Island, Blake, Claire and Peter were hiding amid the boulders of a rocky koppie overlooking the railway line, east of Aus. The pre-dawn morning air was bitingly cold. A score of Jakob Morengo’s men waited at the foot of the hill, on the side away from the line.
Claire looked down at them and in the pink morning light she saw the breath of horses and men hanging momentarily frozen in the air.
What they were about to do was madness. It was treason, punishable by death for her and Peter, even though her husband had made it clear he was there only to administer first aid and would not be carrying a rifle or shooting any German soldiers. Blake, too, would swing from a rope or face a firing squad as an enemy agent, out of uniform.
Thanks to the stillness of the air and the vast emptiness of the desert they heard the train coming a long way off.
Blake looked at her and she at him. On impulse she kissed him, full on the lips, not caring that Peter would see nor that her cheek would be smudged from the black charcoal makeup Blake had rubbed into his face. ‘Go carefully, my love.’
Blake gave her a grin, teeth white against his sooty skin. ‘I will. Don’t run off and leave me again.’
She nodded.
As Blake hopped from rock to rock, making his way down, Claire saw that Peter had indeed been watching them. He gave her a sad smile as if to confirm that what had remained of their marriage was over.
Claire had sent Blake to her farm and told him to bring the twenty horses from the stud. These animals which, apart from her small supply of gold and her land, represented much of her fortune, were with the men and other horses below. Claire was burning her bridges here in South West Africa, of that she was sure.
Below she could see Blake moving across the sandy valley floor, staying low in case an eagle-eyed driver or footman on the train picked out his shadow or silhouette. She saw him reach the railway line and lie down.
*
Blake could feel the vibration of the approaching train through his body and hear the tracks singing as he lay next to the rails.
Placed already in a hole was a bundle of dynamite with the fuses twisted into one. Blake had learned a bit about explosives during the Boer War from former goldminers, of whom there were quite a few in the ranks of Steinaecker’s Horse. He had prepared the fuse to give himself two minutes to retreat from the place of the blast; he had spied a depression between two small dunes which he hoped would give him enough cover. The trick, now, was to light the fuse at the right time – too early and the driver might have time to stop the train and for the guards on board to rouse themselves and deploy into good all-round defence, and too late and the explosion might go off after the engine and carriages had passed over the dynamite. An even more horrifying thought was that the blast might kill the innocent prisoners on board.
Blake had timed the approach of a train the day before and done his calculations accordingly. Down the line he saw steam staining the horizon and the black blob of an engine. He took out his pocket watch and exactly ten seconds later he struck a match and held it to the wick.
Satisfied that the fuse was sputtering nicely he got up and ran at a crouch to the dip in the ground. He threw himself down and peeked over the brow of the dune. The train was chugging along and there were no signs that the driver or anyone else on board had seen him. Seated on top of the second and the last of the six carriages were guards, rifles sticking up from the cocoon of blankets they had wrapped around themselves.
Blake lowered his head. There was nothing more to be gained by watching.
The blast shattered the peace of the morning air and was followed a moment later by the piercing screech of brakes. Blake popped his head up and held his breath as he saw sparks flying from the wheels of the locomotive. For a moment it seemed as though the train would stop before the break in the line, but then the engine left the line and skewed off into the sand. The locomotive rolled onto its side, taking the second carriage with it until the whole train ploughed to a halt.
For a second there was silence, but then Blake felt a vibration of a different kind. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Nama rebels galloping across the desert, rifles drawn. Blake brought his Lee Enfield to bear and looked for targets. The sentry closest to the front of the train had been thrown from his perch, but the second had somehow managed to hang on and was taking aim at the horsemen. Blake aimed and fired and the sentry toppled backwards off the roof of the carriage.
Stunned soldiers were climbing down from the carriages but some of the Nama horsemen had already dismounted and were pushing forward, firing from the hip. Another rebel had crossed the lines and circled the train. He found a carriage full of Schutztruppen all looking the other way and he tossed a lit stick of dynamite inside. The blast blew out several windows.
Blake got up and ran forward. An officer crawled out of the toppled first carriage and pointed a pistol at him, but Blake fired first and the man fell back inside. Blake then saw a man in a grimy undershirt and trousers lying next to the loco, his face bloodied – the driver, he thought. Blake ran to the next carriage, a cattle car. He heard voices inside and fists pummelling on the wooden door.
‘Stand back inside!’ he called. He chambered a round and fired at the padlock securing the car. The lock pinged and fell off and Blake hauled the heavy door open. Men and women began jumping down. ‘Horses, over there!’
Blake looked to the rebels and, as planned, four riders were each leading five more tethered horses. To his surprise, Blake saw that one of the riders was Peter Kohl, his face also blackened now. Peter charged towards him.
‘The driver’s wounded,’ Blake said to Peter as soon as he was near.
Peter nodded and once he had handed over his spare horses to the Nama prisoners he dismounted and ran to the locomotive driver.
The battle was almost done. The Nama had overrun the train and Germans were being rousted out of carriages. The second prison car had been opened and its inhabitants provided with horses, some of them two to a mount.
Blake found Gert, the leader of the Nama war band. ‘Take the injured to the far side of the train, away from the other prisoners – I don’t want able-bodied men identifying the doctor later.’
‘Yes, Blake.’
‘Have you seen Liesl Morengo?’ Blake asked.
‘No.’
Blake looked around. Smoke was billowing from two of the carriages. ‘What’s happening there?’
‘I ordered my men to burn the train,’ Gert said. ‘The railway line will allow the Germans to move more men and weapons to where they’re fighting us.’
It was a smart move, Blake thought, but if Liesl had been on this train she was still in one of those carriages. Blake climbed into the first of the cattle cars, the one whose lock he had shot off. Inside it smelled of urine and sweat. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom but when they did he saw a form lying curled in a corner. Heart pounding, he went to the person and laid down. He put a hand on a cold arm and rolled the woman over. It wasn’t Liesl.
He climbed out of the carriage and to his horror saw that the second car that had held the prisoners had smoke billowing from the doorway. He went to the opening, but just as he tried vaulting up into the burning wagon Peter Kohl appeared in the doorway.
‘Here, take her!’ Peter handed a limp form to him.
It was Liesl. Peter jumped out as flames consumed the wooden car. ‘Lie her down, Blake.’ He coughed.
Moving away from the burning car, Blake placed Liesl on her back. Peter knelt and took her wrists and lifted her arms up and down, over her head and back. He lowered his mouth to hers and blew into it.
‘What are you doing?’ Blake asked, horrified.
Peter blew into Liesl’s mouth then looked up. ‘I have done this with newborn babies who don’t breathe. Sometimes it works.’
‘Sometimes?’
‘Push down on her c
hest, Blake, try to get some blood moving from her heart.’
Before he had a chance, Liesl coughed then groaned in pain.
Blake started. For all his assurances Peter looked as surprised as Blake felt as Liesl came back to life in front of them.
‘She must have been knocked unconscious and then she was breathing in smoke. She was not breathing, Blake.’ Peter carried on with his examination of Liesl, telling her to stay as still as she could. ‘She has a broken arm as well. I will bandage it now and put her on my horse. You go, sort out the Nama and the prisoners.’
Blake told Gert to strip the German soldiers of their weapons, ammunition and food and to send them walking back down the line.
‘We should just kill them,’ Gert said.
Blake shook his head. ‘There’s been enough of that.’
Once the prisoners had been stripped and sent on their way Blake helped load the captured rifles onto a spare packhorse. Claire, seeing that the enemy troops were almost out of sight, rode down from the koppies. She dismounted and came to Blake.
‘Well done,’ she said. ‘And Liesl?’
Blake, arms full of rifles, indicated with a nod. Peter had Liesl in his arms and was taking her to a horse. The girl was looking over Peter’s shoulder, towards them. Blake handed the confiscated weapons to a grateful Nama rebel. Claire got up on her toes, put an arm around Blake’s neck and kissed him.
‘We need to get out of Africa, Blake,’ Claire said into his ear as she broke the kiss.
He looked into her eyes. ‘Whatever you want.’
She took a deep breath. ‘There’s just one thing.’
He gave her a crooked grin. ‘Does it involve gold?’
‘Yes and no. Like I said, I want to do something to help these people. It will involve money and horses.’