Legacy of War

by Wilbur Smith

  Benjamin picked up his pace as he jogged towards the flame trees. He was a hundred yards from the hillock when he heard engines, coming towards him at full power.

  He saw no lights. The engines were getting louder.

  Benjamin peered in the direction of the sound and then he saw the black silhouetted outlines of two vehicles, Land Rovers by the looks of them.

  Were they coming to the aid of the people in the house, or reinforcing the Mau Mau?

  The Mau Mau don’t drive Land Rovers!

  The silhouettes stopped moving. The shadows fell silent.

  ‘Over here!’ Benjamin shouted, speaking in English.

  An instant later he saw a flash, like a match being lit, and at the same time heard the blast of a gun being fired and the whining, buzzing, fluttering passage of a bullet that seemed to pass within a whisker of his skull.

  Benjamin raised his hand above his head and shouted, ‘Don’t shoot! I’m a doctor!’

  He heard a woman’s voice. ‘Benjamin?’

  ‘Saffron!’ Benjamin called back.

  He walked towards the cars and a female figure came running towards him.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Saffron asked, clutching his shoulders, her voice tight with anxiety. ‘Are we too late?’

  ‘I don’t know. The Mau Mau are in the house. The shooting’s stopped. But I don’t know why. I almost killed their leader, but—’

  ‘What about my family?’ Saffron interrupted him.

  Benjamin shrugged. He had no answer for her.

  Before Saffron could say another word, the gunfire from the house suddenly started again. She had to shout to make herself heard as she told Benjamin, ‘That’s it! We’re going in hard and fast!’

  *

  Gerhard had one round left in his rifle, plus Harriet’s pistol and the spare bullets. He had the panga he’d taken from the dead Mau Mau, but no idea how to use it in combat. He looked at the blade tucked into his belt and reminded himself that he had been made to take fencing lessons as a boy: think of it as a short sabre.

  Mashraf fired his last round. Kabaya gave his order and suddenly there were men running down the stairs, vaulting over the balustrade and landing in front of him. Others were leaping over the dining table and racing down the hall. One or two were carrying guns and firing as they came, so crazed by bloodlust that they did not care whether they hit their own men. The rest were waving their knives and screaming Kikuyu battle cries and curses.

  ‘Back into the kitchen!’ Gerhard shouted. As Mashraf ran by, Gerhard gave him the rifle and shouted, ‘Got one round!’

  He kept facing forward as his own men retreated through the door.

  He crouched behind the barricade and fired the pistol four times, without pausing between shots, into the onrushing Mau Mau. They were so close that he could not miss. But only two men were stopped dead in their tracks. The pair that he wounded were so caught up in the adrenalised fury of battle that they ignored the blow and kept coming. The Mau Mau had reached the barricade and were clambering over. Gerhard shifted his gun to his left hand and pulled out his panga. He ducked under a slashing blade wielded by one of the Mau Mau, and swung his from side to side, as fast as he could, desperately trying to keep the attackers at bay as he stumbled backwards.

  Suddenly a bullet cut through the left sleeve of Gerhard’s jacket and he felt an impact like a sharp punch to his arm. His grip slackened on his pistol, but a hand grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him hard.

  The door of the kitchen slammed shut and he heard the key being turned.

  His wounded arm was bleeding profusely, but the Webley revolver was still in his hand. He was safe. But not for long.

  One glance towards the sinks told Gerhard that the men there were out of rounds too, for the Mau Mau were pouring in through the windows and the male and female servants were being forced back deeper into the room. Mashraf shot one of them dead, and that made the others hesitate as he pointed his rifle towards them, giving Mpishi and the others time to scuttle back behind the upturned table, where Mashraf joined them.

  The door to the hall was shaking with the hammering of panga blades against the wood. That at least would hold for a while, but Gerhard heard a shout from the hall.

  A gun started firing and he had to dive for the floor as the hot lead smashed through the lock.

  He scrabbled across the floor to the storeroom door. This would be where he would make his stand. Gerhard put three more rounds in the Webley’s revolving chamber, leaving three in his pocket. He prayed that he would have the courage to do what was necessary for the children when the time came.

  Beside Gerhard, Dorian was telling Sophie how much he loved her, and she was replying in kind, each wanting the other to know before it was too late. Sharpe was shouting incoherent abuse at the door, daring the Mau Mau to come and get him. Across the room, Mpishi, Mashraf and two of the housemaids were lined up behind the kitchen table. There were eight Mau Mau opposite them. Three of them were wounded, but able to swing a panga.

  Gerhard signalled to the staff to join him. The Mau Mau let them go. They too had run out of ammunition. Why risk their necks when their comrades were about to finish the job for them?

  The sound of the Sten went on and on, getting louder and louder, taunting the surviving defenders with its incessant chatter.

  The Mau Mau broke through the kitchen door.

  Gerhard shot the first two who clambered through the gap in the bullet-ridden woodwork. Mashraf got a third. But then the door was smashed completely open and, though Dorian, Sophie and Sharpe hit men at point-blank range, it made no difference as one terrorist after another charged in, cheered on by their comrades already in the kitchen.

  Firing the last three rounds in the Webley’s chamber, Gerhard provided covering fire as the others retreated into the storeroom. Then he darted in, ducking beneath a panga blade and feeling a round fly past him into the door frame as the Mau Mau charged after him.

  No sooner had the door closed and the key been turned than Mpishi, Mashraf and the two maids dashed towards it, carrying sacks of provisions which they piled behind the door. Several shots were fired through the wood, miraculously missing everyone inside. Dorian and Sharpe added to the makeshift barrier with crates of beer and then Dorian shouted, ‘Grab one of the shelves! We can wedge it against the door!’

  More shots and hammering smashed against the door. Gerhard could hear whoops and shouts of encouragement coming from the kitchen. They sounded like football supporters cheering on a winning team. Dorian and Sharpe grabbed one end of a freestanding shelf, filled with provisions that stood against the far wall. Mashraf and Mpishi took the other. They tilted it forward and a mass of provisions crashed to the floor. But now the shelf could be lifted and the men ran with it, still at an angle, and jammed it against the door, while the bottom rested on the floor.

  Dorian’s wife Sophie ran to Harriet and the children, who were clinging white-faced to their grandmother, to see how they were.

  ‘We might as well sit on it, gentlemen,’ Dorian said, placing himself on the bottom shelf. ‘The weight will make it almost impossible to open the door.’

  ‘What if they shoot us through the door?’ Sharpe asked.

  Dorian gave a wry smile. ‘What difference would that make? If they come through the door we’re goners anyway.’

  Sharpe took the point. As he, Mpishi and Dorian filled up the rest of the shelf, Gerhard approached them, reloading the Webley as he went.

  ‘Does anyone have any ammo left?’

  The men shook their heads.

  ‘I think Sophie’s got one left,’ Dorian said.

  ‘I think it’s best if she saves it,’ Gerhard said, and Dorian nodded, knowing what he meant.

  Gerhard looked at the men by the shelf and the two maids who were gathering jars, bottles and cans to use as missiles.

  ‘You all put up a hell of a fight,’ he said. ‘It’s been an honour to serve alongside you. But now, I’v
e got three bullets left. I’m not wasting any of them on the Mau Mau.’

  ‘I understand, old boy,’ Dorian said. ‘Go to your children . . . and God bless.’

  Gerhard walked over to the children, got down on his knees and took them both in his arms.

  ‘Are we going to die, Daddy?’ Zander asked.

  ‘Hush now, it’s all right, I’m here,’ Gerhard said. ‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you . . . Or you, sweetheart,’ he added, giving Kika a kiss.

  It was almost over now, Gerhard knew that. One way or another the Mau Mau would get in, even if they had to burn the house down around them to do it. A silence fell. Then there was a rattling sound, like a tin can rolling along the kitchen floor and bumping up against the kitchen door.

  ‘Grenade!’ shouted Sharpe, grabbing Dorian and pushing him to one side as he threw himself to the floor. Mpishi and Mashraf were both old soldiers; they knew the drill too. The women followed the menfolk’s lead and dropped to the floor as Gerhard pushed the children down and hurled his body across them. The door and shelf exploded in a deafening hail of flying splinters that beat against the walls of the storeroom.

  The two servant girls had caught the worst of the blast, but though both were badly cut, neither was severely wounded. But they, like the men, were dazed, their ears ringing, their minds scrambled.

  Then a thunderous blaze of gunfire broke out. On and on it went, and all Gerhard could do was curl up in a ball around his children and hope he lived long enough to do his duty.

  He had the gun in his hand. As soon as the first Mau Mau came through the door, he would kill his children first and then, if he had time, Harriet too.

  The noise ended. The storeroom filled with smoke and dust. Soon the angels of death would appear through the gloom and it would be too late. Gerhard crossed himself. He thought of Saffron. He wished that they could have had just one more minute together, so that he could have put their disagreements behind them and told her how much he loved her. Then he whispered, ‘Forgive me, my darling,’ put his gun against Kika’s head, and tightened his finger on the trigger.

  The Land Rovers came tearing down the drive.

  The vehicles came to a halt a few yards from the front door and everyone piled out. Saffron grabbed a Sten from Makori’s stock of weapons.

  ‘Here, take these,’ he said, handing her two magazines that were taped together, slightly off-centre, open at opposite ends. ‘When one runs out, just take it out, spin it and slot in the next. Means you can keep firing non-stop.’

  ‘Never seen that before,’ said Saffron. Then speaking more quietly, because she did not want to embarrass Makori in front of his own people, she said. ‘This is my battle, on my land. Mind if I take it from here?’

  He nodded his agreement. Saffron turned to face the pseudos and started rapping out orders.

  ‘You, take two men and go in through the dining room, that’s the window on the left. Clear it, then advance into the hall.’ She pointed to another man. ‘You go through the drawing room, on the right, same thing, take two men. The rest of you, come with me. You too, Benjamin. Stay tight to me and do exactly what I tell you.’

  She gave Wambui her Beretta and saw her face light up as she was given the chance to fight like a man. Then she shouted, ‘Let’s go!’

  There was no time to carry out any reconnaissance. Saffron dashed through the front door, into the hall . . . and it was empty.

  There were dead Mau Mau soldiers scattered across the floor. Three or four of them were injured and still moving.

  Saffron shot one and shouted, ‘Kill the rest!’

  There was no hesitation; her veneer of civility had been discarded. This was war and there were no rules.

  As Wambui and the pseudos obeyed the order, another two Mau Mau appeared on the stairs. One of them was holding a bottle. The other was waving a gun. They thought the battle was over and won.

  Saffron took one of them out. Benjamin shot the other. He had never before witnessed, still less inflicted, the destructive, blood-spattered brutality of a rifle bullet fired at point-blank range into another human being. He stopped in his tracks, sickened by what he had done.

  There was not a shred of pity in Saffron’s voice.

  ‘Snap out of it! Keep moving!’

  Benjamin looked at her, unable to match the callous, hardened fighter beside him with the thoughtful, elegant woman he had known all his life.

  Makori appeared and shouted, ‘Two whites dead! One man, one woman!’

  ‘There’s another down here,’ Saffron said as she headed towards the kitchen, with Benjamin right behind her.

  A woman’s corpse, horribly mutilated by a myriad panga blades, lay across the opening where the kitchen door had been. Beyond her, through the door. Saffron could see a mass of Mau Mau. They were laughing and cheering, firing rifles in the air.

  We’re too late, she told herself.

  Then she spotted the knot of men gathered round the door to the storeroom, smashing rifle butts against it and firing at the woodwork and lock. It wasn’t over yet.

  ‘There’s someone in there,’ she called at Makori.

  He nodded, lifted the Sterling to his shoulder and walked towards the kitchen with Saffron beside him and Benjamin, Wambui and the pseudos behind them. They were outnumbered five, even six to one by the Mau Mau. But they had the advantage of surprise and plenty of ammunition.

  Maybe we’re going to be on time. Maybe it’s going to be all right, Saffron thought.

  And then silence fell on the kitchen. The men nearest the door backed away and the grenade went off.

  At least four of the Mau Mau were killed by their own blast. But the rest were running for the open door and suddenly Saffron knew this was the endgame. The battle could still be lost.

  She had to stop them before they could get inside the storeroom. She opened fire the way she had been taught at Arisaig, not taking careful aim, but looking at her target and letting the gun follow her eyes.

  Look, burst, kill.

  Look, burst, kill.

  Beside her, Makori was dealing out carnage at a brutal rate. Wambui was shooting like a born marksman. Benjamin had forgotten his oath and his political principles as he took out one man after another. The pseudos were locked in combat with guns and knives.

  But though the casualties kept falling, it seemed to make no difference to the men by the door. Saffron saw two faces she recognised, and realised that they belonged to Kungu Kabaya and the sidekick he had brought to the meeting with Jomo Kenyatta. Their attention was focused on killing whoever was in the storeroom.

  Saffron felt a desperate hope that her father and Harriet were safe in there, mixed with a terror that all was lost. She swapped magazines, lifted her gun and fired at the two men. Gitiri went down, clutching his chest, high up by one shoulder.

  That got Kabaya’s attention. He saw her and shouted orders to his remaining men to turn and face the new enemy. He raised his gun towards Saffron.

  She fired a lone sustained burst from her Sten gun that blew Kungu Kabaya’s head to pieces.

  Kabaya’s men saw that their leader was dead. They started throwing down their weapons and begging for mercy. Several more of them were shot before Makori shouted, ‘That’s enough!’

  Saffron ignored it all. She walked through the storeroom door and saw the vague outlines of people, just discernible in the dust and gloom. It occurred to her: What if they think I’m the enemy?

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ she cried out. ‘It’s me – Saffron!’

  And the first thing she heard was a high, piping voice calling out, ‘Mummy!’

  It took a second for Gerhard to realise that he wasn’t dreaming. It was Saffron. She was turning to him and he saw the grim mask of the trained killer disappear as she spotted him and ran towards the corner where he was crouched by the children.

  He had a gun in his hand. He looked at her and the anguish and relief in his eyes told her what she had just prevent
ed.

  They embraced, wordlessly. The two children hurtled towards her and she dropped to her knees with her arms open and embraced them both as they charged into her arms.

  Gerhard pulled Saffron gently back to her feet.

  ‘I need to show Mummy something,’ he told the children.

  ‘Are you showing her Grandpa?’ Zander asked.

  Saffron followed Zander’s eye to the huddled body in the far side of the storeroom, then she spun round and screamed, ‘Benjamin! Benjamin! Please – come here!’

  Benjamin knelt beside Leon’s body and felt for the non-existent pulse, but it had taken a glance to tell him that he was looking at a corpse.

  Saffron broke down in tears. Her body shook with grief and between her sobs she berated herself, saying, ‘I should have come sooner . . . should have gone faster . . . it was my fault.’

  Gerhard took her in his arms. He stroked her head, trying to soothe her. Harriet, her cheeks wet with her own tears, said, ‘Here, let me . . .’

  She held Saffron and waited until she had cried herself out, then said gently, but firmly, ‘Saffron, darling, look at me . . .’

  Saffron raised her head from Harriet’s shoulder.

  ‘Now listen carefully,’ Harriet went on, looking Saffron in the eyes. ‘You have done nothing wrong. Nothing . . . You saved us. Everyone in this house owes their lives to you and the brave men who came with you. Your father is so proud of you . . . I believe he’s looking down at us now and his soul is at peace because he knows that all his work, all his life, was worthwhile because it produced you. He has left you a splendid legacy and he has complete faith in you to do it justice. So don’t reproach yourself. Don’t worry about the things you have done. Think to the future and do what is right. That is all Leon Courtney would have asked of his daughter.’