Power Of The Sword Part 46

All right, Shasa, I'm here. The voice was close by and he groped for him.

Davie! Davie! It's all right, Shasa, it's all going to be just fine. Shasa found his hand and clung to it. I can't see. I'm blind., The bandages, that's all, David a.s.sured him. The doctor is delighted with you. You're not lying to me, David? Shasa pleaded. 'Tell me I'm not blind. You are not blind, David whispered, but mercifully Shasa could not see his face as he said it. Shasa's desperate grip relaxed slowly, and after a minute the pain-killers took effect and he drifted back into unconsciousness.

David sat beside his cot all that night; even in darkness the tent was hot as an oven. He wiped the glistening sweat from Shasas neck and chest, and held his hand when he whimpered in his sleep and muttered, Mater? Are you there, Mater? After midnight the doctor ordered David to leave him and get some rest, but David refused.

I have to be here when he wakes, I have to be the one to tell him. I owe him that much at least. outside the tent the jackals yipped at the dawn, and when the first glow struck through the canvas, Shasa woke again, and asked immediately, David? I'm here, Shasa. 'It hurts like h.e.l.l, Davie, but you told me it's going to be all right.

I remember that, you did tell me, didn't you? Yes, that's what I said. We'll be flying together soon, won't we, Davie boy? The old team, Courtney and Abrahams back in business? He waited for the reply, but when it did not come Shasa's tone changed. I'm not blind, am I? We will be flying again? You are not blind, David said softly. But you won't be flying again. You're going home, Shasa. Tell me! Shasa ordered. Don't try and spare me, that will only make it worse. All right, I'll tell you straight. The bullet burst your left eyeball. The doctor had to remove it. Shasa lifted his hand and touched the left side of his face disbelievingly.

You will still have full vision in the right eye, but you won't be flying Hurricanes again. I'm sorry, Shasa. Yes, Shasa whispered. 'So am I. David came to visit him again that evening. The CO has put you up for the DFC. You'll get it, for sure. That's charming of him, Shasa said. b.l.o.o.d.y charming. And they were silent for a while, then David spoke again.

You saved my life, Shasa. Oh shut up, Davie, don't be a bore., 'They are flying you down to the coast tomorrow morning in the transport Dakota. You'll be in Cape Town for Christmas. Give Matty and the baby a kiss for me, you lucky sod., I'd change places any day, Shasa told him. But we'll give you one h.e.l.l of a party when you come home. Is there anything I can do for you, anything you need? David asked as he stood up.

As a matter of fact, there is. Do you think you could get your hands on a bottle of whisky for me, Davie? The commander of the submarine straightened up from the eye-piece of the telescope and nodded to Manfred De La Rey.

Look, please! he said, and Manfred took his place at the telescope, pressing his forehead against the rubber pad and staring into the lens.

They were lying two miles offsh.o.r.e and on the surface it was late evening. The sun was setting behind the land.

Do you recognize the landmarks? the U-boat commander asked in German and Manfred did not answer immediately, for he found it difficult to speak. His emotions were too strong, five years, five long years since he had set eyes on this beloved coast, and his joy was abundant. He knew that he could never be truly happy anywhere but in his Africa.

However, the intervening years had not been unhappy.

There had always been Heidi, and in this last year his son, Lothar, named after his own father. The two of them had formed the pivot of his existence. And there had also been his work, two tasks running side by side, each of them demanding and utterly fulfilling.

His law studies had cuhninated in a Master's degree in Roman Dutch Law and International Law at the University of Berlin.

There had also been his military preparations. Sometimes these had kept him from his new family for months at a time, but now he was a highly trained and dedicated operative of the German Abwehi. He had acquired unusual and diverse skills. He had become a radio operator, and an expert in explosives and small arms; he had made ten parachute jumps, five of these in darkness, and he could pilot a light aircraft; he was versed in cipher and coding, he was a deadly marksman with rifle or sidearms, an exponent of unarmed combat, a trained a.s.sa.s.sin, both body and mind honed to a razor's edge of preparedness. He had learned the art of persuasive public speaking and rhetoric, and had studied the political and military structures of South Africa until he knew all the vulnerable areas and how to exploit them. He was now ready in every way that he and his masters could foresee for the task that lay ahead of him. Not one man in a million, he knew, would ever have an opportunity such as he was being given, the opportunity to mould history and to turn the detestable order of the world upon its head. Greatness had been thrust upon him, and he knew himself equal to that challenge.

Yes, he replied in German to the U-boat commander, I recognize the landmarks. He had spent one happy, carefree summer holiday on this spa.r.s.ely populated stretch of the southeastern coast of Africa. Here Roelf Stander's family owned five thousand hectares, and five miles of this fore-sh.o.r.e.

Manfred and Roelf had fished from that rocky headland, pulling the big silver kabeljou from the creaming green surf that broke over the black boulders. They had climbed that low range of hills to hunt the speckled bushbuck amongst the flowering ericas and magnificent blooms of the wild protea shrubs. In that quiet cove with its rind of smooth yellow sand they had swum naked, and afterwards lain on the beach to discuss the future and fantasize about their own particular roles in it. There below the hills, gleaming in the last rays of the sun, stood the whitewashed walls of the small holiday cottage in which they had lived.

Yes,he repeated. This is the rendezvous. "We will wait for the agreed time, the U-boat commander said, and gave the order to lower the periscope.

Still two miles offsh.o.r.e, the submarine lay twenty metres below the surface, suspended in the dark waters with its engines stopped, while above it the sun sank below the horizon and night fell over the African mainland. Manfred went down the narrow pa.s.sageway to the tiny cubicle he shared with two of the U-boat's junior officers and began his final preparations for landing.

In the weeks since they had left Bremerhaven, he had come to hate this sinister craft. He hated the cramped quarters and the close intimate proximity of other men, he hated the motion an the ceaseless vibration of the engines. He had never become accustomed to the knowledge that he was locked in an iron box deep under the cold oceanic waters, and he hated the stink of diesel and oil and the reek of the other men trapped down here with him. He longed with all his soul for the clean night air in his lungs and the hot African sun on his face.

Quickly he stripped off the white rollneck jersey and the navy blue peajacket and dressed instead in the worn and shapeless clothing of a country Afrikaner, a bywoner or poor white squatter. He was still darkly tanned from his training in the mountains and he had allowed his hair to grow out over his collar and his beard to become thick and curly, adding many years to his age. He looked at himself now in the small mirror on the bulkhead above his bunk.

They will never recognize me, he said aloud. Not even own family. He had dyed his hair and beard black, the same colour as his eyebrows, and his nose was thickened and twisted. It had never set properly after the American Cyrus Lomax had broken it in the Olympic final, and one eyebrow was lumpy and scarred. He looked entirely different from the young, clean-cut, blond athlete who had sailed from Africa five years before. He pulled the stained felt hat low over his eyes and nodded at his image with satisfaction, then turned from the mirror and went down on his knees to reach the equipment that had been stowed beneath his bunk.

It was packed in rubber waterproofed containers and sealed with tape. He checked off each numbered package on his list, and a German seaman carried them away and stacked them at the foot of the ladder in the submarine's conning tower.

Manfred checked his watch. There was just time for a quick meal and then he would be ready. The bosun called him from the galley, and with a mouth still full of bread and sausage, Manfred hurried to the U-boat's control room.

There are lights ash.o.r.e. The captain stood up from the periscope and gestured Manfred to take his place.

It was fully dark on the surface and through the lens Manfred picked out immediately the three beacon fires, one on each horn of the headlands and one on the sheltered beach.

That is the correct recognition signal, Captain. He straightened up and nodded. We should surface now and make the reply. To the thunder and crackle of compressed air purging the diving tanks, the U-boat rose up like Leviathan through the dark depths and burst out through the surface.

While the submarine still wallowed in her own froth, the captain and Manfred climbed the ladder and went out onto the bridge. The night air was cool and sweet, and Manfred drew deep breaths of it as he peered through his binoculars at the black loom of the sh.o.r.e.

The captain gave a quiet order to the signals yeoman, and he worked the handle of the Addis lamp, clattering out quick beams of yellow light across the dark silver-flecked ocean, spelling out the Morse letters W S', the abbreviation of White Sword'. After a short pause one of the beacon fires on the headland was snuffed out, and a few minutes later the second fire was extinguished, leaving only the one on the beach still burning.

That is the correct response, Manfred grunted. Please have my equipment brought on deck, Captain. They waited almost half an hour until out of the darkness close at hand a voice hailed them.

White Sword? Come alongside, Manfred called back in Afrikaans, and a small open fishing-boat crept towards them on its long oars.

Quickly Manfred shook hands with the U-boat captain and gave him the n.a.z.i salute, Heil Hitler! Then he scrambled down onto the lower deck. The moment the wooden hull of the fishing-boat touched, Manfred leapt lightly across and balanced easily on the central thwart.

The rower in the forward seat rose to greet him.

Manie, is that you? Roelf! Manfred embraced him briefly. 'It's so good to see you! Let's get my equipment aboard. The rubber canisters were swung across by the U-boat's deck crew and stowed in the bottom of the fishing-boat, and at once they pushed off. Manfred took the oar beside Roelf and they gave way swiftly, then rested on their oars to watch the black submarine shark below the surface and disappear in a rash of white water.

Once again they began pulling towards the sh.o.r.e, and Manfred asked softly, Who are the others? He indicated the three other oarsmen with his chin.

All our people, local farmers from the district. I've known them since I was a child. They are completely trustworthy., They did not speak again until they had run the boat in through the low surf to the beach, dragged it up the sand and hidden it amongst the salt bush.

I will fetch the truck, Roelf muttered, and a few minutes later the yellow headlights came down the rough track to the beach. Roelf parked the battered green four-tormer beside the fishing-boat.

The three farmers helped them transfer Manfred's equipment to the back of the truck and cover the canisters with bales of dried lucerne and a tattered old tarpaulin. Then they climbed up on top of the load while Manfred took the pa.s.senger seat in the cab.

Tell me all the news of my family, first, Manfred burst out. We have plenty of time for business later. Uncle Tromp is just the same, What a sermon that man can preach! Sarie and I go every Sunday How is Sarah? Manfred demanded. And the baby? You are out of date, Roelf laughed. Three babies now.

Two boys and a little girl of three months. You'll meet them all soon. One at a time they dropped the other men off along the winding dirt road with a word of thanks and a quick handshake, until at last they were alone. A few miles further on they reached the main coastal road near the village of Riversdale, and turned westwards towards Cape Town two hundred miles away, and ran on through the night, stopping only to refuel the truck at the little town of Swellendarn and to spell each other at the wheel of the truck.

Four hours later they crossed the mountains and went down the steep narrow pa.s.s to the wide littoral. They stopped again a few miles outside Stellenbosch, at one of the cooperative winery companies. Although it was three o'clock in the morning, the manager was waiting for them and he helped them unload the rubber canisters and carry them down into the cellar.

This is Sakkie Van Vuuren, Roelf introduced the manager. He is a good friend, and he has prepared a safe place for your equipment. He led them to the rear of the cellar, to the last row of wooden casks. These were ma.s.sive oak containers each holding a thousand gallons of immature red wine, but the manager thumped the palm of his hand against one of them and when it gave out a hollow sound, he smiled.

I did the work myself, he said and opened the front of the cask. It was hinged like a door and the cask beyond was empty. n.o.body will ever find the goods here., They packed the rubber canisters into the cask and closed the hinged lid. It was indistinguishable from any other of the ma.s.sive wine-filled casks in the row.

We will be ready to move when the time is ripe, the winemaker told Manfred. When will it be? Soon, my friend, Manfred promised him. Very soon, and he and Roelf drove on into the village of Stellenbosch.

It's good to be home. You will only stay here tonight, Manie, Roelf told him.

Even with your new black beard and broken nose, you are too well-known. You will be recognized. He parked the truck in the yard of a secondhand car dealer down near the railway tracks and left the key under the floor mat. Then the two of them walked the last mile, through the deserted streets to Roelf's home, a cottage in a row of small thatched cottages. Roelf let them in through the back door into the kitchen, and a familiar figure rose up from his seat at the kitchen table to greet them.

Uncle Tromp! Manfred cried. The old man held open his arms, and Manfred ran into his embrace.

What a terrible ruffian you are with that beard, Uncle Tromp laughed. And I see the American did a permanent job on your nose. Manfred looked over Uncle Tromp's shoulder and there was a woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

That was what misled him, a woman, not a girl. Her face was marked by a kind of sad wisdom, and her expression was pinched and without joy.

Sarah? Manfred left Uncle Tromp and went towards her.

How are you, my little sister? I was never your little sister, Manfred, she said. But I am very well, thank you. She made no effort to embrace him and Manfred was clearly disturbed by the coolness of her welcome.

Are you happy, Sarah? I have a fine man and three beautiful babies, she said, and looked at Roeff.

You will be hungry now, she told him. Sit down. You can talk while I make your breakfast. The three men seated themselves at the kitchen table and every once in a while Manfred glanced surrept.i.tiously at Sarah as she worked over the stove, and his expression was troubled, ridden by old memories and guilt. Then he gathered himself and concentrated once more on what the others were saying.

The news is all good, the British smashed and broken at Dunkirk, France has fallen and the Netherlands. The German U-boats are winning the battle of the Atlantic and even the Italians are victorious in North Africa- I did not know you were one of us, Uncle Tromp, Manfred cut in on the discussion.

Yes, my son. I am a patriot as you are. The Ossewa Brandwag is forty thousand strong now. Forty thousand picked men in positions of power and authority, while Jannie s.m.u.ts has sent one hundred and sixty thousand of the English-lovers with their little orange tabs on their shoulders out of the country. He has put himself at our mercy. Our leaders know of your arrival, Manie, Roelf told him.

They know that you bring a message from the Fahrer himself, and they are eager to meet you. Will you arrange a meeting, Manfred asked, as soon as possible? There is much work to do. Glorious work to do. Sarah Stander stood quietly at the kitchen stove, breaking eggs into the frying pan, turning the chops under the grill.

She did not look round or draw attention to herself, but she thought: You have come to bring sadness and suffering into my life again, Manfred De La Rey. With your every word and look and gesture you open the wounds I thought had healed.

You have come to destroy what little life has left me. Roelf will follow you blindly into folly. You come to threaten my husband and my babies, And her hatred of him was made stronger and more venomous as it fed on the corpse of the love that he had murdered.

Manfred travelled alone. There was no control of personal movement, there were no roadblocks, police searches or demands for identification papers. South Africa was so far from the main war centres that there were not even significant shortages of consumer goods, apart from petrol rationing and a ban on the milling of white flour, therefore no need for ration books or other doc.u.mentation existed.

Carrying a small valise, Manfred merely purchased a second-cla.s.s railway ticket for Bloemfontein, the capital town of the Orange Free State province, and he shared a compartment with five other travellers on the five hundred mile journey.

Ironically, the meeting to subvert the elected government of the nation took place in the provincial government building at the foot of Artillery Hill. When Manfred entered the imposing administrator's office, he was reminded how wide was the influence of their secret organization.

The commander of the OB came to meet him at the door.

He had changed little since he had administered the bloodoath to Manfred in that midnight torchlit ceremony. Still paunchy and craggy-featured, he was now dressed in a sombre double-breasted civilian suit. He greeted Manfred warmly, clasping his hand and patting his shoulder, smiling broadly.

I have been expecting you, brother, but first let me congratulate you on your achievements since last we met, and the magnificent work you have accomplished so far., He led Manfred into the room and introduced him to the five other men seated at the long table.

All of us have taken the blood oath. You may speak freely, he told Manfred who knew now that he was addressing the highest council of the brotherhood.

He sat at the bottom of the table facing the commander and gathered his thoughts for a moment before beginning.

Gentlemen, I bring you personal greetings from the Fithrer of the German people, Adolf Hitler. He has asked me to a.s.sure you of the close friendship that has always existed between the Afrikaner and the German nation, and to tell you that he is ready to support us in every possible way in our struggle to win back what is rightfully ours, to regain for the Afrikaner the land that belongs to him by right of birth and conquest. Manfred spoke forcefully and logically.

He had prepared this address with the help of the experts of the German propaganda department and had rehea.r.s.ed it until his delivery was perfect; he could judge his success by the rapt expressions of the men listening to him.

The Fuhrer is fully aware that this country has been stripped of almost all men of military age who have sympathy with the s.m.u.ts government and the British. Almost one hundred and sixty thousand men have been sent north to serve beyond our borders. This makes the task easier. s.m.u.ts has called in all weapons in private hands, one of the men interrupted him. He has taken the sporting rifles and shotguns, even the memorial cannons from the town squares. There will be no rising without weapons. You have seen to the centre of the problem, Manfred agreed. To succeed we need money and weapons. We will get those. The Germans will send them to us? No. Manfred shook his head. This has been considered and rejected. The distance is too great, the difficulty of landing great quant.i.ties of arms on an inhospitable coast is not acceptable and the ports are well guarded. However, immediately we have control of the ports, supplies of heavy arms will be rushed to us by U-boats of the German navy, and in return we will throw open our harbours to the German Uboats. We will deny the Cape route to the British. Then where will we get the arms we need for the rising? From Jannie s.m.u.ts, Manfred told them, and they stirred uncomfortably and glanced at one another doubtfully.

With your approval, naturally, I will recruit and train a small elite striking force of our stormjagters. We will raid the government arms and ammunition dumps and seize what we need, the same with money.

We will take it from the banks. The enormity of the concept, the boldness and sweep of it, amazed them. They stared in silence and Manfred went on.

We will act swiftly and ruthlessly, seize the arms and distribute them. Then at a given signal we will rise, forty thousand patriots, to seize all the reins of power, the police and the army, the communications system, the railways, the harbours. In all of these we have our people already in place.

All of it will be done at the prearranged signal., What will that signal be? asked the commander of the O B.

It will be something that will turn the entire country on its head, something staggering but it is too early to speak of it. It is necessary only to say that the signal has been chosen and the man who will give the signal., Manfred looked at him steadily, seriously. I will have that honour. I have trained for the task, and I will do it alone and unaided.

After that it will only remain for you to take up the reins, to swing our support to the side of the victorious German army, and to lead our people to the greatness that has been denied them by our enemies. He was silent then as he studied their expressions, and he saw the patriotic fervour on their faces and the new light in their eyes.

Gentlemen, do I have your approval to proceed? he asked, and the commander looked at each of them in turn, and received a curt nod of the head.

He turned back to Manfred. You have our approval and our blessing. I will see that you have the support and a.s.sistance of every single member of the brotherhood. Thank you, gentlemen, Manfred said quietly. And now if I may give you the words of Adolf Hitler himself from the great book Mein Kampf, "Almighty G.o.d, bless our arms when the time is ripe. Be just as Thou has always been.

judge now whether we be deserving of freedom. Lord, bless our battle."

Amen! they cried, leaping to their feet and giving the O B salute of clenched fist across the chest. Amen! The green Jaguar was parked in the open, beside the road where it skirted the top of the cliff. The vehicle looked abandoned, as though it had stood here for days and weeks.

Blaine Malcomess parked his Bentley behind it and walked to the cliff's edge. He had never been here before, but Centaine had described the cove to him and how to find the pathway. He leaned out now and looked down the cliff. It was very steep but not sheer; he could make out the path zigzagging down three hundred feet to Smitswinkel Bay, and at the bottom he saw the roofs of three or four rude huts strung out along the curve of the bay, just as Centaine had described.

He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it onto the front seat of the Bentley. The climb down the pathway would be warm work. He locked the door of the car and set off down the cliff path. He had come, not only because Centaine had pleaded with him to do so, but because of his own affection and pride and sense of responsibility towards Shasa Courtney.

At various times in the past he had antic.i.p.ated that Shasa would be either his stepson or his son-in-law. As he climbed down the pathway he felt again the deep regret, no, more than regret, the deep sorrow, that neither expectation had been fulfilled thus far.

He and Centaine had not married, and Isabella had been dead for almost three years now. He remembered how Centaine had fled from him on the night Isabella died, and how for many months afterwards she had avoided him, frustrating all his efforts to find her. Something terrible had happened that night at Isabella's deathbed. Even after they had been reconciled, Centaine would never talk about it, never even hint at what had taken place between her and the dying woman. He hated himself for having put Centaine in Isabella's power. He should never have trusted her, for the damage she had done had never healed. It had taken almost a year of patience and gentleness from Blaine before Centaine had recovered from it sufficiently to take up again the role of lover and protectress which she had so revelled in before.

However, she would not even discuss with him the subject of marriage, and became agitated and overwrought when he tried to insist. It was almost as if Isabella were still alive, as if she could from her long-cold grave a.s.sert some malevolent power over them. There was nothing in life he wanted more than to have Centaine Courtney as his lawful wife, his wife in the eyes of G.o.d and all the world, but he was coming to doubt it would ever be so.

Please Blaine, don't ask me now. I cannot, I just cannot talk about it. No, I can't tell you why. We have been so happy just the way we are for so many years. I can't take the chance of mining that happiness. I am asking you to be my wife. I'm asking you to confirm and cement our love, not to ruin it. Please, Blaine. Leave it now. Not now. When, Centaine, tell me when? I don't know. I honestly don't know, my darling. I only know I love you so. Then there were Shasa and Tara. They were like two lost souls groping for each other in darkness. He knew how desperately they needed each other, he had recognized it from the very beginning, and how close they had come to linking hands. But always they failed to make that last vital contact, and drifted, pining, apart. There seemed to be no reason for it, other than pride and pigheadedness, and without each other they were diminishing, neither of them able to fulfill their great promise, to take full advantage of all the rare blessings that had been bestowed upon them at birth.

TWo beautiful, talented young people, full of strength and energy, frittering it all away in a search for something that never existed, wasting it on impossible dreams or burning it up in despair and despondency.

I cannot let it happen, he told himself with determination. 'Even if they hate me for it, I have to prevent it. He reached the foot of the path and paused to look around.

He did not need to rest, for although the descent had been arduous and although he was almost fifty years old, he was harder and fitter than most men fifteen years younger.

Smitswinkel Bay was enclosed by a crescent of tall cliffs; only its far end was open to the wider expanse of False Bay.

Protected on all sides, the water was lake-calm and so clear he could follow the stems of the kelp plants down thirty feet to where they were anch.o.r.ed on the bottom. It was a delightful hidden place and he took a few moments longer to appreciate its tranquil beauty.

There were four shacks built mostly of driftwood, each of them widely separated from the others, perched upon the rocks above the narrow beach. Three were deserted, their windows boarded up. The last one in the line was the one he wanted, and he set off along the beach towards it.

As he drew closer he saw the windows were open, but the curtains, faded and rotted by salt air, were drawn. There were crayfish nets hanging over the railing of the stoep and a pair of oars and a cane fishing-rod propped against one wall. A dinghy was drawn up on the beach above the highwater mark.

Blaine climbed the short flight of stone steps and crossed the stoep to the front door. It was open and he stepped into the single room.

The small Devon stove on the far wall was cold, and a frying pan stood on it, greasy with congealed leftovers. Dirty plates and mugs cluttered the central table, and a column of black ants was climbing one leg to reach them. The wooden floor of the shack was unswept, gritty with beach sand. There were two bunks set against the side wall, opposite the window. The bare boards of the upper bunk were without a mattress, but in the lower bunk was a jumble along of grey blankets and a hard coir mattress with a stained and torn cover. On top of it all lay Shasa Courtney.

It was a few minutes before noon and he was still asleep.

An almost empty bottle of whisky and a tumbler stood on the sandy floor within reach of Shasa's dangling arm. He wore only a pair of old rugby shorts and his body was burned to the colour of oiled mahogany, a dark beachcomber's tan; the hair on his arms was sun bleached to gold, but on his chest it remained dark and curly. It was obvious that he had not shaved in many days and his hair was long and unkempt on the dirty pillow. Yet the deep tan covered all the more obvious signs of debauchery.

He slept quietly, no sign on his face of the turmoil which must have driven him from Weltevreden to this squalid shack. He was still in all respects but one a magnificentlooking young man, that was why the left eye was even more shocking. The top ridge of the eye-socket was depressed on the outside corner where the bone had shattered; the scar through his dark eyebrow was shiny white and ridged. The empty eye-socket was sunken, and the eyelids drooped apart, exposing wet red tissue in the gap between his thick dark lashes.

It was impossible to look on the hideous injury without feeling pity, and it took Blaine a few seconds to steel himself to what he had to do.

Shasa! He made his voice harsh. Shasa groaned softly and the lid of his empty eye twitched.

Wake up, man. Blaine went to the bunk and shook his shoulder. 'Wake up. We've got some talking to do. Go away, Shasa mumbled, not yet awake. Go away and leave me alone. Wake up, d.a.m.n you! Shasa's good eye flickered open and he peered up at Blaine blearily. His eye focused and his expression altered.