Teardrops of the waning moon

by Steve Reeder

  “Yeah, no problem. Gary Wood runs the weapon’s store, and he says that I can take whatever I want in the way of AK’s and such. I lead him to believe I had a buyer down south for them,” he laughed briefly. “Gary is always short of money for his drug habit. But we’ll need to get them into the airport and store them with the clothes a day of two before the 29th as well.”

  “I can get Steff down to Ondangwa,” Smit said. “I talked to my mate, Johannes, who drives one of the supply-trucks back and forth to Oshikati, which is of course right next to Ondangwa. He has agreed to take Steff down on the 27th.”

  “That will leave us going on a six-man patrol with only five guys though. Someone might notice, don’t you think?” Reece said.

  “We leave at 4am. It’ll be dark and I’m pretty sure no-one else is going to be interested. We’ll have to chance it,” Franz replied.

  “How do we convince De Swart to assign us to patrol on that day and let us go out on only a five-man patrol?” Smit wanted to know.

  “Sean has that under control,” Bomber said with a grin.

  Sean Reece did indeed have a plan, and like most of his plans it involved at least one woman, or in this instance two women. To begin with he just came right out and asked de Swart to do them all a favour and fix the patrol as requested. The short answer was rude and in fact biologically impossible. But Sean Reece had always been able to read people and he knew instinctively their wants and desires, be it a man or woman. What De Swart wanted was the little redhead who lived next-door to Monica, the wife of the power utility’s personnel manager. However, subtlety was needed. Luring De Swart like a fish, Reece set his trap. He used John Smit to dangle the bait while he persuaded Erica to be the bait.

  “So, did she agree?” Franz asked Reece. It was daybreak the next day, and the five of them were jogging slowly around the four kilometre perimeter road.

  “She did, but you have no idea the sort of kinky debauched things I had to do with her, and promise to do again afterwards.”

  “Oh, you poor guy,” Smit said. “Life must be hard for you.”

  Bomber let the laughter fade away and after fifty metres of road had passed beneath their pounding boots he commented, “Well, Blackie wasn’t hard to convince. He got a hard-on just at the thought that he may have a shot at her tonight.” He let another stretch of road go by. “Are there going to be any other women at the little party, Sean? Or are you and Blackie the only ones getting laid tonight?”

  “Sorry, Bomber, I tried to get Erica to agree to do you as well, but she said that some things are just not worth it.”

  “Oh! Haha. Wait till I’m rolling in money and diamonds. I’ll have a different bird for every day of the week and one of them will be your sister.”

  “I’m sure we discussed my lack of sisters before? Didn’t I tell him that I don’t have a sister, Franz?”

  “Who knows, Sean? There are always so many birds hanging around you, no-one can keep track of who they are. I’d be surprised if you can remember.”

  Early the next morning, just as the sun was beginning its merciless assault on the arid ground, Erica Reilly left De Swart sleeping in the spare room and slipped out of Monica’s front door, hoping that no-one was watching, only to be met by two of Sean’s soldier friends walking up the short driveway.

  “Is Blackie de Swart up and about yet?” one of them asked her, without preamble.

  Erica blushed deep red and shook her head. “No, he’s still asleep. So are Sean and Monica.”

  The young men looked at the door and hesitated. Erica pushed it open again indicating that they should go in, and then fled down the path. Bomber watched her go with a wistful expression, then followed Franz inside and headed directly for the kitchen and the chance of a decent coffee. “Let’s go find Blackie, Bomber, and make sure that he keeps his side of the bargain.”

  Five minutes later De Swart joined Franz in the kitchen where there was a mug of strong coffee waiting for him.

  “Oh shit, my head hurts - and I missed morning stand-to and roll call,” De Swart muttered as he rubbed the sleep from his face.

  Franz shrugged and told him not to worry about it. “Kallis dismissed the guys without calling the roll. I think he realised that a lot of the guys were still a bit hung over and was prepared to let it go this time, because of the battle. He was still looked a bit worse-for-wear himself.” Franz grinned and then continued, “But I’ll bet that he didn’t have as good a time as you.”

  De Swart scowled but then grinned widely as he remembered the evening he had spent with Erica.

  Bomber and Reece arrived and accepted a mug of coffee each. From down the passage they heard Monica start the shower. The four of them sipped on the hot coffee in silence. Finally, his mug emptied, Reece looked at De Swart. “So we’re OK for that thing that we agreed on, Blackie?”

  “Ja, fine, I’ll do it, but do you think that Erica would…you know…again?”

  Reece grinned at him. “That is something that you’ll have to organise for yourself.”

  De Swart nodded thoughtfully. “OK. What are you guys up to anyway?”

  “That’s not your concern, Blackie,” Franz told him. “Just keep your side of the bargain, OK?”

  “Ja, OK.”

  Early the next morning Cole answered the phone, picking it on the third ring.

  “Please hold for Mr Reece,” a giggling female voice announced.

  A moment later Reece was on the phone. “Charlie, I hope I didn’t wake you this time,” he said with a hint of laughter.

  “Not this time, Sean. I take it that was Monica playing secretary for you?”

  “No, that was Erica.”

  “You horny dog.”

  “Yeah, well…you know how it is, someone has to do it. Now to business. We are all set this side. Everything will be in place on time. Have you sorted out the pilot and his plane?”

  “No problem there, Sean. I showed him the remaining two stones and told him that there would be ten more for him.”

  “You didn’t tell him where they were coming from, I hope?”

  “I’m not stupid, Sean. He’s bugging me to know but…Don’t worry, we’ll be there on time and he’ll have no choice but to sit on his arse and wait for us to get back. I’m sure the thought of the diamonds will keep him in line. How sure is Steffen that he can fly the plane?”

  “Steff says it would not be a problem at all. He did a couple of hours in several aircraft not that different to the one you told me about…so no worries there.”

  “OK, now, about comms when I get to Ondangwa. Find out the number of a public box at the Ruacana airport and let me have it the next time you call me. On the 27th at, let’s say nineteen hundred hours, I’ll call that number. That will be a final contact before Steff and I leave Ondangwa. Just to make sure everything is OK your side.”

  “That’s a good idea, Charlie. I’ll see if I can slip out of camp and get a ride through to the airport this afternoon. The clerks will be fetching mail anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Reece replaced the phone handset and turned his attentions to Erica. Debts must be paid, he whispered, and pleasure must be found where you can. Erica squealed with delight as his hand found its way under the covers.

  Sixteen

  Bomber Harris studied the list and nodded his satisfaction. The planning was going well. Over the past week, three parcels of clothes had arrived, and Franz had secured them in one of the empty weapons stores at Ruacana airport. Reece had the weapons selected and his mate Gary had them cleaned and stored in a corner of the ammunition dump. Cole had called the day before to say that everything was going well with his side of the planning. The blot on the landscape was Tommy Freeman who had scored some cocaine from one of the whores working out of the construction company’s village outside the main gate to Ruacana and had been useless for three days. The rest of the section had covered for him at morning parade and evening stand-to, until Franz had lost his cool and the two
of them had come to blows the evening before. Freeman was now soundly asleep on the far side of the tent. John Smit claimed to have found the rest of the narcotics, washed them down the laundry sink. Bomber shrugged, Freeman had done this twice before and been fine for months afterwards, hopefully this would be the end of just another episode.

  The snarling voice of Staff-Sergeant Kallis was suddenly at the entrance to the tent, and the imposing figure of the man followed a split second later.

  “Where is Reece?” Kallis demanded.

  “You have a bush-licence to drive this vehicle, Reece, and you are going to drive it. That is an order.”

  Reece glared resentfully at the bespectacled Captain. “Captain Steyn, I know that you’re new to the regiment, but I’m sure that Sarge has told you…”

  “That’s enough, Reece! Either you have the buffel loaded with Section One and on the road in five minutes, or I’ll have you on charge again. And we both know that one more charge against your name and it’s off to the detention barracks for you!”

  Reece clamped his mouth shut and turned to Corporal Dave Vos who was standing nearby. “Give me two minutes, Dave. I just need to grab my kit.” He threw a sloppy salute at the officer and stormed off.

  Franz met Reece at the Section Two tent. “What’s this rumour I hear, Sean?”

  “Section Three have run into a whole bunch of nasties and Section One is being sent to help out.”

  “Where?” Franz asked, his voice loaded with curiosity and concern.

  “Twenty-five Kays north. Other side of MGM,” Reece replied, pointing at the koppie on the far side of the border; One of two that had been named as MGM and Snowball. “Steyn says that these are Cuban troops, not SWAPO.”

  Franz followed Reece into the tent and helped him gather up webbing and ammunition magazines. “Any idea of how many?”

  “Don’t know, but plenty was the best estimate.”

  “OK, um…good luck, I guess.”

  Reece muttered something Franz didn’t catch, jogging back towards the Ops centre, webbing slung over one shoulder, and bush hat hang down his back.

  “I just can’t understand why he’s not the poster-boy for army recruitment,” Franz said with a wry smile. Reece in at the deep end again.

  “Driver, stop!”

  Reece craned his head back and looked up at Corporal Vos who was standing in the back of the buffel, leaning over Reece’s driving cab. “Are we lost, Dave?”

  “No, we not lost, Reece,” Vos growled. He planted the radio handset firmly against the side of his face and held terse conversation with Section Three’s leader, the result of which, from what Reece heard, was that neither Section Leader knew quite where Section Three was. Finally Vos pointed to a rise in the terrain some two kilometres ahead. “Sean, get us up there and let’s see if we can get a bearing on the guys.”

  “Dave, why don’t we fire off a thousand-foot flare and they can give us a bearing from their position. Then we work back towards that?”

  “The Cubans will see it too.”

  “So what? We’re not going to arrive there without them hearing this damn thing,” he said indicating the buffel, “and it seems to me that time is crucial.”

  Vos chewed on his bottom lip, but finally nodded. “OK, but let’s do it from up there. It’ll make the flare easier to spot.” He hesitated for a second and then added, “I could hear gunfire in the background, so the Cubans are still engaging them.”

  Reece stopped the buffel just short of the top of the small hill. He could hear the troops behind him bailing out of the vehicle, spreading themselves around under cover, making sure no-one was going to surprise them. Vos barked into the radio and when he got the reply that he wanted. He fired the flare. Reece watched it ark upwards before finally begin to fall away. He turned his attention to Vos who was nibbling the nails on his left hand, eyes closed and concentrating, waiting for Section Three. Finally his shot up, eyes wide open as he stared wildly around. The compass held before him. “There!” he told Reece, his hand pointing. “Let’s move!” he shouted at the Section One members.

  The members of the section were barely back in the buffel before Reece bumped and bashed the buffel down the hill, ignoring the numerous protests from the back, until they hit the flat and featureless plain, before changing to high-ratio. Within seconds the powerful armoured personal carrier was tearing across the African country-side. Vos was standing, hanging over the driver’s cab and shouting into the radio hand-set. Reece did his best ignore the unwanted instructions as he battled with the steering-wheel, trying to avoid the bigger stones and sudden dips.

  Suddenly Vos was screaming at him. Instantly Reece saw the danger. Directly ahead of them two Cuban soldiers rose up from their prone position where they had been hiding. One swung the RPG launcher and aimed it at the Reece. Looking left and right Reece realised that they had driven into a trap. There was nowhere to turn until they had passed the Cubans. There was a flash from the RPG as the rocket propelled anti-tank grenade launched. Reece ducked instinctively and tried to dodge the missile – but there was no room to manoeuvre. A split second later the RPG skimmed past the armoured glass in front of him and slammed into the troop’s seating section behind him, it’s high-explosive heat smashing a three inch gaping hole in the metal. Reece stamped on the throttle. There was no alternative but to try and hit the Cubans before they reloaded. Reece doubted that he would make it. Fifty metres and the buffel was bouncing over rocks and smashing into small bushes, the engine screaming in protest. The Cuban, a look of panic on his face, was slotting the new missile into the launcher. Thirty metres and the RPG was coming up, its deadly snout pointing straight the buffel. Reece swore violently and realised that he was about to die. The flash of the ignition and the impact was almost simultaneous.

  Seventeen

  Durban

  “Bloody idiot!”

  “Excuse me, Sir?”

  “Um, no, not you, me – sorry.” Cole brushed past the bell-hop and made for the front desk, his hotel room key already in his hand.

  The girl on reception smiled and then immediately looked concerned. “Is everything all right, Mr Cole?” she asked.

  “No,” Cole grunted. “I mean, yes, but I’m checking out.”

  “Are you sure, Mr Cole? You paid for two days? I would need to find the duty manager to refund - ”

  “I know – keep it, I’ve got to go. I’m leaving for Jo’burg.”

  “We are sorry to see you go, Mr Cole, was there anything that…”

  “No, no. Everything was fine with the room, I just – oh hell, I should never have come down.”

  She hesitated, smiling uncertainly. “If you’re sure?” Cole nodded. “Well, I hear that the police are operating a speed trap just outside Pinetown, so…”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Cole nodded his thanks, heading for the front entrance. He should never have come down. He should never have contacted Tanya. Last night had been a major mistake.

  “Can I get you a taxi, Sir?” The doorman stood resplendent in his hotel uniform outside the entrance.

  “No thanks. My car is parked around the back.” Cole stopped and stretched the tension from his neck and shoulders.

  “You look at bit tense, Sir?”

  “Women.”

  “Ah! They can be troublesome, can’t they, Sir?”

  “No, it’s my fault,” Cole said, uncertain why he was telling the doorman. “She’s the girlfriend of a friend – or a friend of a friend.”

  “Trouble indeed, Sir.”

  “Yes. Last night was a mistake.”

  “Last night, Sir? Did the two of you - ?”

  Cole thought about last night and shook his head sadly, then turned and went in search of his car.

  “Look out for that speed trapping, Sir!” he doorman called after him.

  Eighteen

  Three hammer blows near his left ear refocused Reece’s mind. He opened his eyes and rubbed the side of his face which was throbbing pa
infully. There was a swelling above his right temple and a smear of blood on his ear. Two more rounds slammed into the left side of the buffel, one of them starring the armoured glass in the door to the drivers cab. Reece took stock; the buffel was stopped, and ahead he could see three of the South African troops prone on the ground several metres apart, R4 rifles aimed to the south, to the left of the buffel. He could not recall stopping or the men on the back deploying. He studied the riflemen with suspicion, wondering if they were a figment of his fussy imagination. Reece sensed that there was another man taking cover behind the front left wheel, almost under his feet. With cool deliberation the guys fired single shots at the enemy. As his mind cleared the battle took shape before him. The Cubans were some two hundred metres to the south and there seemed to Reece to be an awful lot of them. He rubbed his temple again and considered his options. To try and leave the buffel via the heavily armoured door was a non-starter since it faced the advancing enemy, and to stand up and climb out the top of the cab would have been equally suicidal. He considered briefly restarting the vehicle and driving it somewhere safer, but discarded that idea; he could hardly drive over the guy under the buffel. Besides, running away from a fight wasn’t in his nature.

  The sounds of the battle were overcoming the ringing in his ears now. What had happened? How had he survived the impact of the RPG? Studying the glass in front of him he worked out that the missile, being fired from low down, must have hit the buffel at an angle, and the shaped charge in the RPG that should have punched a hole through the glass seemed to have blown mainly upwards. The top of the thick, laminated glass had turned opaque and the very top might even have melted into the metal surrounding it. He retrieved his R4 rifle from where it had fallen and checked the magazines – one in the weapon and three more in the webbing that he wore around his chest. Not enough if those Cuban maintained their advance. Reece studied the flat, barren ground to the south; the Cubans were closer now, perhaps within a hundred and fifty metres. There was four of their number down behind the advancing line troops. One of them laid face down and dead still while the other three were obviously still alive. Where was section Three? And more importantly to Reece, could Section One hold off the larger force of Cubans until Section Three arrived?