Teardrops of the waning moon

by Steve Reeder

Mad Dog handed over his master-card with some reluctance and began exposing the lung shot wound again. Reece snapped the card in half. Mad Dog swore but accepted one half and used it to seal the exit hole as best he could while Reece covered the entry hole. Between them they wrapped the now completely bloody bandage around Strydom’s chest again.

  Franz arrived back with Bomber and they, along with Smit, quickly marked and cleared a landing spot for the incoming puma. As soon as that was done he reposted the remaining troops in all-round defensive position to cover the aircraft while it was on the ground.

  “Sherrington, you had better go back with the chopper too,” Franz suggested.

  “And you can go screw yourself,” Sherrington told him. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a scratch.” He lifted his shirt to show the section-leader where the AK47 round ripped a small chunk of flesh just below his left armpit. “But if someone can stick a Band-Aid on it, I’d appreciate that.”

  Franz was too tired to argue and waved Sherrington in Reece’s direction. “Speak to nurse Reece then. But if you start moaning about it later I’ll kick your arse!”

  Any reply that Sherrington might have been about to make was drowned out as the puma arrived, skimming the trees and flaring dramatically overhead before plunging onto the ground. Almost before the aircraft had hit the dirt two op-medics were out and running towards the injured officer, bags of kit and fluids their hands. Reece backed off and left them to it. He didn’t think that Strydom was going to survive anyway.

  With no place on the helicopter for the injured enemy, Franz just let them go. One of them would probably not survive anyway.

  Fourteen

  September. Johannesburg.

  Over two thousand kilometres south of the coming battle lays the city of Johannesburg and, like any big city, it has a plentiful supply of jewellery shops. Even so it had taken Charlie Cole three days to find the one store that was owned by the one jeweller that he needed; the one with the easy-going attitude to the laws regarding who can and cannot handle uncut diamonds. The shop was small and dimly lit, probably so potential customers didn’t notice the shabby nature of carpets and fittings.

  Cole showed the largest of the three uncut stones to the man behind the counter.

  “Should I ask where you acquired this from?” Bloomberg asked after much peering and frowning and dramatic thoughtfulness.

  He was a small man with long fingers that handled the precious stone with long and easy familiarity of men in his position.

  “It’s part of my late grandfather’s estate,” Cole told him. He had already told the same story to a more reputable jeweller at American Swiss where he had got a valuation, supposedly for the estate. American Swiss had politely declined to ‘do a deal’ though.

  “And you are looking to sell it before the taxman knows it exists, hmm?” Bloomberg asked with a sly smile.

  “Well, let’s say that I am. What could I expect to get for it?”

  Bloomberg studied the unimpressive-looking stone intently while he thought about how much this young man would take for the diamond. Superb bit of rock it was too; if it was cut it would be worth a fortune. The kid was young, perhaps twenty-two or three, and what would he know about the value of diamonds, especially uncut ones? And illegal too, whether he was telling the truth about the diamond being part of an estate or not, he should not and could not sell it legally.

  “I can do you a favour,” Bloomberg announced, “I will take it off your hands for one thousand Rand.”

  “With respect, Mr Bloomberg, I think that it is worth a lot more than that.”

  “Sure, you are correct, it is. But only from a respectable jeweller like myself, and I take the risk that someone should ask where I got it from, and I must make a profit! You would not expect me not to make something from the deal, would you? You could always wait until probate is finished and then sell it?” he added with disbelieving laugh.

  “Naturally, sir, everyone should make a fair profit,” Cole replied emphasising the word ‘fair’.

  Bloomberg screwed his jeweller’s eyeglass back into his right eye and began another critical examination of what was the largest of the stones, wondering if there were more of them to be had. This was just for effect. He knew what he wanted to pay for the stone, actually he wanted it for next-to-nothing, but that was unlikely.

  With a heavy sigh he put the eyeglass down and looked up at the younger man. “All right, I am robbing myself, but I can see how much it meant to your late grandfather, so I will pay one thousand, one hundred Rand for this stone, OK?”

  “One thousand eight hundred,” Cole replied. “I know a jeweller in Cape Town who will give me two thousand two hundred Rand, but obviously I don’t want to travel all the down there.”

  “This is impossible! I would lose money if I pay you more than a thousand three hundred and fifty Rand.”

  “A thousand eight hundred, Mr Bloomberg - final offer! Otherwise I might just as well go to Cape Town and sell them there.”

  “Aiye! The things that I do for people!” Bloomberg threw up his hands in mock despair. “OK, OK, I give you the a thousand four hundred - ”

  “A thousand six hundred.”

  “All right all right,” Bloomberg said with a bad tempered scowl and went through to his back room, muttering and mumbling to get the money; He never kept more than a hundred or two in the till.

  Cole grinned. He knew that the old rogue would make a good profit, from what the man at American Swiss had told him, but he was happy to get more than the one thousand four hundred that he had set out to get. Not that one thousand six-hundred rand was a lot of money, but the offer from BP was only one and a half thousand a month and considered a fairly good salary. Besides, he only needed it for a while. The other two stones were bait for a less-than-honest pilot with the right airplane to rent. Unless Reece and the others could change Steffen’s mind, Lessing would need some powerful persuasion to go all the way through with the plan.

  Back on the Angolan border Samuel Nuuyoma was a worried man. He was the leader of the group of Freedom Fighters who had travelled so far south to punish the village for not supporting the Swapo cause. The political high command had been decided that the headman had to die as an example for other villages. Nuuyoma had also been hoping to find teenage boys to take for training back in Angola, willing or not. Teenage girls would have been nice too, for more recreational purposes. But the headman had somehow been warned and the villagers had all left, leaving only the headman and three others to try and defend their homes; all four had died an ugly death.

  The mission had not gone according to plan and now the South African soldiers were going to catch his men. He had sent a dozen fighters back to ambush the white men but one of the survivors had reported back that, although his men had killed twenty of the white bastards, they had failed to stop them all. According to the survivor there were still fifty to sixty of the South African soldiers chasing them. Now he was taking the shortest route out of the country that he knew, and speed was everything. It was a risk but his men were scared and he did not know how long some of them would remain with the force. Already two of them were muttering about their home village not being that far away. The border was less than ten kilometres away now. He knew that the government soldiers would sometimes cross the border in pursuit but he still felt safer north of the river. The shallow valley ahead was the last danger to be faced; unless the South Africans had some gunships in the air. Nuuyoma scanned the horizon constantly but no helicopters were seen. He longed for night and the cover of darkness.

  Encouragingly he pointed towards the low pass ahead him and urged his men on. He knew that an ambush in the pass was a possibility that he would have to watch out for, but Swapo intelligence had told him about the small number of troops in the area ahead of him. Little did he know that Staff-sergeant Kallis was alone in the pass waiting for him and his fighters.

  The pilot in question had already been identified as Brian Lessing, and Charl
ie Cole had no doubt that he could be tempted by the thought that there might be dozens more uncut diamonds to be had. Tempted to fly to South West Africa that is, Angola was another question all together; pity that Steffen had refused.

  “Mr Lessing?” Cole asked of the slightly seedy-looking man sitting at the counter with a half-eaten cheese roll and a mug of coffee in front of him. There was a well-worn flying jacket hooked on the back of the seat.

  The skinny pilot looked up at the young man, putting aside the papers in front of him. Lessing liked to drink coffee and do his paperwork in the airport’s only restaurant. “Captain Lessing,” he corrected, stressing the captain part. “Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?”

  Cole looked around the Fly Inn coffee shop and indicated a table in the corner. “I’d like to talk you about a flight. Can we…?” he motioned again towards the far table.

  Lessing shrugged, pushed aside the remainder of his lunch and reluctantly followed the kid across the room. It wasn’t far anyway; the place was only big enough for seven tables.

  “A flight, you say?” Lessing asked, as soon as they were both seated.

  “Yes, I want you to fly me to Ondagwa in South West Africa for a meeting and then back here afterwards.”

  “I can do that. How long will we be on the ground for?”

  “Two or perhaps three days,” Cole told him.

  “And you want my aircraft? I can find a smaller one if it’s just you and me?”

  “No, your’s will do. There may be several another guys and some cases of stuff on the return trip.”

  Lessing went into thoughtful mode and began calculating costs in his head, added a substantial profit and then almost laughed out loud. There was little chance that the kid could afford to hire him or his airplane.

  “You know that it might be cheaper for you to take a scheduled airline?” He scribbled an amount of a note pad and slid it across the table.

  Cole looked at the figure and nodded as if he was unconcerned by the price. “Fine, I’ll phone you within a day or two and let you know when I need to go.” Cole leaned closer to the pilot and lowered his voice. “By the way, I’ll be collecting a small bag of uncut diamonds which is not strictly legal. Will that be a problem for you?” The sudden calculating gleam in the pilot’s eyes was all the answer Cole needed. He’d leave the older man to think about that for a day or two before discussing how he’d be paid for the flight.

  Back near the border with Angola, Franz and his seven troopers were again on the trail of the Swapo fighters and were entering the valley no more than a thousand metres behind the terrorists. Geoff Sherrington was cursing quietly as the sweat soaked through the dressing and invaded his injured side. Tommy Freeman claimed that the tracks they were following were less than ten minutes old. No-one believed his self-proclaimed expertise in tracking, but neither could dispute his claims. If they caught the guerrillas then there would be another battle, if not then they expected to hear the guns of Charlie Two-two. Either way it wasn’t going to be long now.

  Staff-sergeant Kallis waited. He could see the band of Swapo fighters now, still four to four hundred and fifty metres from his position. He knew that timing was going to be everything, but even he got it right, the terrorist might not react as he expected them to and if they charged his position he would be in trouble. If they ran for cover to the west, then they all had problems but if they ran for the broken ground to the east of the valley, they would be running straight into Corporal Peter Jones’ kill-zone. He aimed his R4 carefully even though he knew that he had no realistic chance of hitting his intended target from this distance. The Swapo fighters ran on, moving swiftly into the kill-zone. Slowly, gently, Kallis squeezed the trigger.

  Cole, blissfully unaware of the death and mayhem being unleashed to the north, sat in a local Wimpy drinking coffee and scribbling plans. Planning was everything. The whole diamond-theft caper could go so very wrong at so many points and Cole was determined to think of a plan B and C and even a plan D for every possible eventuality. He filled pages of notes, tore out pages and filled more of them. Eventually he nodded and closed the examination pad. He was ready and he trusted Sean and Bomber to do their part. The only thought that really troubled him now was of a dark-haired beauty in Durban; He couldn’t stop thinking about Tanya.

  The shots fired by Kallis had the desired effect. Samuel Nuuyoma screamed at his panicking men, desperately trying to control them. He pointed at the available cover and urged them to it, to be ready to fight. He laughed loudly and shouted at his men, “They have fired too soon! Now it is our turn!”

  His men followed his directions and ran for the broken ground to east, looking for cover to regroup and launch their own attack. They never saw Jones or the others but too many of them felt the fury of the light machineguns and the rifles of the South African troops as they ran into the killing ground. Twelve were dead within seconds, five more by the time they could turn and run. Only eighteen made it out of the kill-zone, three of them had dropped their weapons in panic and all of the survivors ran straight into the path of Franz Coetzer and his section.

  Charlie Cole considered the money in his wallet and then phoned three numbers before finding an available date. There was a James Bond movie showing that he’d missed while on the border. The young lady was pleased to hear from him again and would be ready by six-thirty. Cole looked forward to a night of passion and tried not to think about the pregnant teenager who was expected to give him a daughter within weeks.

  The defeat was complete for Nuuyoma and his men. Only seven were still alive and only three remained uninjured. Staff-sergeant Kallis took control, set defences and tasked several of the men to check to enemy’s casualties and collect he weapons while he contacted the HQ. Two Puma helicopters and a super-Frelon would be dispatched within the hour, he was told. Three of the South African soldiers were being sick at the sight of the mayhem they had wrought.

  Fifteen

  September. Johannesburg.

  The phone rang for an eternity before Charlie Cole finally rolled out of bed and found the phone under a pair of girl’s panties. Clearing his throat, he answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “And good morning to you too, Charlie. You sound as if you’ve only just woken up.”

  “Sean?”

  “Right first time, old son,” Reece said with a chuckle, “You don’t sound too good. Can I assume that you are hung-over?”

  “More or less. What’s up? Where are you calling from?”

  “Monica’s house.”

  “Who on earth is Monica?”

  “Her husband is one of the engineers with the power company up at Ruacana dam. She’s letting me use her phone.”

  “Where’s her hubby?”

  “He’s away for a few days. Anyway, I have good news for you; Steffen has had a change of mind and he says that he’s in.”

  “That’s good. I’m complaining, but what changed his mind?”

  “We had a bit of a squabble with a bunch of terrs yesterday, and it was a bit rough…one of our officers was killed and a couple of the guys were injured, two of them badly. Anyway…Steff seems to have had second thoughts about things on the way back to camp. We had a major piss-up in the NCO’s pub afterwards and this morning Steff comes out and says that he’s wants in!”

  “That all sounds a bit hectic. Did you get many of the Swapo?”

  “Yeah. Fifty-three of them.”

  “Fucking hell! Nice one - well done. OK, so the plan is going ahead then. I have found the plane and the pilot to fly it to you-know-where. Can you call me back the day after tomorrow so we can finalise plans?”

  “Sure. I’ll let the others know, but we have a few things sort out first with the planning from here,” Reece assured him.

  Cole showered, remembered to wake the still sleeping girl, encouraged her to go home and was on the road to Grand Central Airport within the hour. Now that Steffen had confirmed his participation, Cole’s excitement le
vel had ratcheted up several notches. It was as if the planning before had been somehow unreal, a dream perhaps; but now it felt like it was happening for real. He hoped that Reece and Bomber would be ready on time. Today was the fourteenth and the scheduled diamond exchange in Angola was only sixteen days away. It was time to show Lessing one of the rough diamonds and gauge his reactions.

  Back in Ruacana, the six of them agreed to meet at the power corporation’s swimming pool right after dinner. The pool was just outside the camp’s perimeter and used by a number of the troops, but on this occasion it was deserted when Reece and Bomber arrived. Reece stripped off and swam ten lengths while the others gathered. Finally Franz told him stop mucking around and get his arse under the tree where the others sat drinking cans of beer.

  “So let’s recap,” Bomber said. “Three weeks from now, on the day of the 31st, we need to land at the town in Angola either just before these Americans do, or be prepared to take the diamonds off them before they leave, which we are confident we can do, right?” The others agreed. “That means that we need to be already at the farm in Zambia that Cole has found, by the 30th or even the 29th to be on the safe side, right?” The others nodded again. “That means that we need Steff to be in Ondangwa to pick up the plane by the night of the 28th so that he can fly back to Ruacana on the morning of the 29th. That leaves us with the following problems; how do we get Steff to Ondangwa? How do we get our civies into the airport so that we can change…”

  “Where do we get the civies from in the first place?” Smit asked.

  “Don’t worry about that, Smitty. I’ll get my sister to send up a parcel of clothes. I’ll just need your heights and sizes, especially boot sizes,” Freeman assured him.

  “Good,” Bomber continued. “We still need to get the clothes stored at the airport. We can’t go on this patrol dressed in civies. Sean, are you sure about the weapons?”