Their progress was a triumphal march, for news of their success flashed through the Renamo lines ahead of them. Men in tiger stripes turned out to cheer them, shake their hands, and thump their backs as they passed. The porters bore the cases of missiles aloft as though they were the ark of Jehovah and they the priests of an arcane religion. They sang Renamo battle songs as they trotted along proudly under their burdens.
General China was waiting to greet them at the entrance to his newly constructed command bunker, resplendent in crisply laundered battle dress and decorations, his maroon beret cocked jauntily over one eye.
"I knew you would not fail me, Colonel." For the first time in their acquaintance, Sean had the feeling his smile was genuine.
"We lost almost thirty men under Sergeant Alphonso," Sean told him brusquely. "We were forced to abandon them."
"No! No, Colonel!" General China clasped his shoulder in an unparalleled display of goodwill. "Alphonso got out safely. He lost only three men in reaching the mission at Saint Mary's. I have just had radio contact with them. They will be in our fines by tomorrow evening at the latest. The entire operation was a brilliant success, Colonel." He dropped his hand from Sean's shoulder.
"Now let us see what you have brought me."
The porters laid the wooden cases at his feet. A black Caesar receiving the spoils of war, Sean thought ironically.
"Open them!" China beamed. Sean had never expected such childlike excitement from one usually so cold and contained.
China was actually performing an ecstatic little jig and scrubbing his hands together as he watched the junior officers on his staff Iding jimmies and bayonet blades in an attempt to prize up the wie lid of the first crate. The steel strapping frustrated their efforts.
In the end China could no longer control himself. He pushed his officers away, snatched a jimmy bar out of the hands of one of them, and attacked the case himself. He was sweating profusely with excitement and exertion when at last the lid yielded, and there were obsequious cries of congratulation from his staff as the contents were revealed.
The Stinger launcher was fully assembled with loaded missile tube.
The IFF interrogator was packed separately in a transparent glassine envelope, ready to be plugged into the console head by its short coil of cable. The-additional four disposal tubes, each containing a single missile nestled in the molded white polyurethane foam packaging. After firing the missile, the empty tube would be discarded and replaced by a fresh tube containing its own sixteen pound missile.
The laughter and cheering gradually subsided and the general staff crowded forward to examine the contents of the case, albeit with a marked reserve as though they had discovered a nest of poisonous scorpions under a rock and expected a fanged tail to whip out at them at any second.
General China slowly went down on one knee and reverently lifted the assembled launcher out of its foam nest. His staff watched in awe as he settled the clumsy weapon on his shoulder.
The missile tube extended behind him and the console with its antenna, looking as mundane as a plastic milk crate, almost totally obscured General China's features. He peered studiously into the aiming screen of the console and gripped the triggered pistol stock.
He aimed the Stinger skyward, and his staff uttered small sounds of encouragement and admiration.
"Let the Frelimo hen shaw come now," China boasted. "We will see them burn." And he began to make helicopter and machine gun noises like a small boy at play, pointing the missile at flocks of imaginary Hind gunships that circled overhead.
"Pow! Pow!" he cried. "Vroom! Swish! Boom!"
"Kapow!" With a straight face, Sean joined in, and the general's staff howled with delight and tried to outdo each other with the sounds of exploding and crashing helicopters.
Somebody began to sing and they all picked up the refrain, clapping their hands to the rhythm of the Renamo, battle anthem, swaying and stamping their feet. Now there were two hundred men singing, their voices blending and rising into the beautiful melodious sound of Africa that made the goose pimples rise on Sean's forearms and the hair on the back of his neck prickle. General China stood in the midst of them with the missile on his shoulders, leading the chorus. His voice soared above the rest, amazing Sean with its range and clarity, a magnificent tenor that would not have disgraced any of the world's great opera houses.
The song ended with a great shout of defiance, "Renamo!" and the men's dark faces were lit by a fierce patriotic ardor.
4"In this mood, they'll be hard men to beat," Sean thought.
General China handed the launcher to one of his men and came to shake Sean's hand. "Congratulations, Colonel." He was earnest and happy at the same time. "I think you have saved the cause. I am grateful."
"That's fine, China. f9 Sean was ironic. "But don't just tell me how grateful, show me."
"Of course. Forgive me." China put on a little show of repentance. "In the excitement I almost forgot. There is somebody very anxious to see you."
Sean felt his breathing shorten and his chest constrict. "Where is she?"
"in my bunker, Colonel." General China indicated the carefully concealed entrance to the dugout among the trees.
Sean elbowed his way roughly through the ranks of excited soldiers. When he reached the entrance to the bunker, he could restrain himself no longer, and he went down the rough stop three at a time.
Claudia was in the radio dugout, sitting on a bench along the far wall with her two war dresses flanking her. He spoke her name when he saw her and she came to her feet slowly, staring at him, white-faced with disbelief. The bones of her cheeks threatened to burst through the almost translucent skin, and her eyes were huge and dark as midnight.