A man came out of the smoke and stood before us. In the orange light from the blaze we could see that it was Collins. He had tied a piece of cloth over his nose and mouth, and was breathing heavily.
“I think it was a Nationalist supplies-convoy, Lat,” he shouted to us.
“Is there anything for us?” Lateef said.
“No food. Not much else. But come and see what we’ve found.”
Lateef took a rag from his pocket and tied it around his face. I followed suit. When we were ready, Collins led us past the remains of the first two trucks and up to the third. This one was not alight.
A rocket had evidently landed directly in front of it, wrecking the driver’s cab, but not setting fire to the main part of it. The truck had then collided with the one in front of it, which had burned earlier but without affecting the other. The truck immediately behind it had been victim of a direct hit and its remains were smouldering. Eight or nine of our men stood around, looking expectantly at Lateef.
Collins gestured towards a crate lying on the ground. “We found that on the truck.”
Lateef knelt before it, reached inside, and pulled out a rifle. He laid it on the ground.
“Are there any more of these?”
“It’s full of them.”
Just then, a truck about fifty yards away from us exploded, and we all crouched defensively. I was holding my own rifle and instinctively I backed away towards the nearest trees. I watched Lateef.
He looked round. I heard him say: “Is there any ammunition?”
“Yes.”
“Get it off quickly. As much as we can carry. Kelk!” One of the men ran forward. “Get a handcart. Empty everything off it. We’ll carry the rifles on that.”
I stepped back into the trees, suddenly an observer.
It occurred to me that if the ammunition truck were to explode, then all of the men around it would probably be killed. I noticed how much of the grass and shrubbery around the truck was blackened with heat, and how sparks from other trucks drifted near by. I wondered if there was much diesel-oil on the truck, or if there were any unexploded rocket-shells in the vicinity. It was possible that rifles and the ammunition for them were not the only explosives on the truck, and that some of it might explode simply by being manhandled. Though my fears were based on logical grounds, there was an element of irrationality too … a feeling, superstitious perhaps, that if I moved to assist the others I would somehow provoke disaster.
I stood amongst the trees, the rifle redundant in my hand.
Once, Lateef left the others and stood with his back to the truck, staring towards me in the trees. He called my name.
I waited until the loading was finished to Lateef’s satisfaction. Then as they pushed the handcart away, I followed at a discreet distance until a camp-site was selected at a distance of about half a mile from the ambushed convoy. I made an excuse to Lateef that I had thought I saw a figure lurking in the woods, and had investigated. Lateef was displeased, and to appease him I offered to stand first guard on the liberated weapons. Another man, Pardoe, was told to share the watch with me, which lasted for two hours.
In the morning each man was issued with a rifle and ammunition. The remainder was stowed on the handcart.
In the weeks following, Sally and I were on our own. For some time we continued to live in our tent, but were fortunate finally in finding a farm where we were allowed to live in one of the labourers’ cottages. The couple who lived in the farm itself were elderly and took little interest in us. We paid no rent, and in return for assisting with work around the property we were given food.
In this period we had a semblance of security, though we were never allowed to forget the growing military activity in the countryside.
The area was under the control of the Nationalist forces and the farm itself was considered to be strategic. Men from the army came in occasionally to help with the work, and an antiaircraft battery was built in one of the outer fields, though it was never, to my knowledge, used.
At first, I had an overwhelming interest in the progress of the civil war but soon learned to curb this. I spoke only once with the farmer about the politicial situation and learned that he was either unwilling or unable to discuss it. He told me that he had once had a television and radio, but that they had been removed by the army. His telephone did not work. His only access to information about the outside world was through the army tabloid that was distributed free to all civilians. His occasional meetings with other farmers were uninformative, since they were all in a similar position.
I spoke several times with the men from the army who worked on the farm. Here, too, I was not able to learn much. They had evidently been ordered not to speak with civilians about the progress of the war, and though this was not strictly adhered to it was plain that the major part of their knowledge consisted of the propaganda put out by their superiors.
One night, in early October, the farm was the target of a raid by enemy forces. At the first pass of the reconnaissance plane, I took Sally to the best available cover — a disused pigsty, which had the advantage of being constructed with stout brick walls — and we laid there until the attack was over.
Our cottage was not damaged, but the farmer’s house had been destroyed. The couple were missing.
In the morning the commander of the Nationalist troops visited the farm and took away what remained of the equipment that had been dumped there. The antiaircraft battery was abandoned.
For no better reason than an unwillingness to uproot ourselves, Sally and I remained in the cottage. Though we felt we were in a precarious situation, the prospect of living once more under canvas was not attractive. Later in the day, the farm was occupied by a detachment of integrated Afrim and Secessionist soldiers, and we were questioned closely by the African lieutenant in charge.
We observed the soldiers with great interest, as the sight of white men actually fighting alongside the Africans was new to us.
There were forty men in all. Of these, about fifteen were white. Both officers were Africans, but one of the N.C.O.s was white. The discipline appeared to be good, and we were treated well. We were allowed to stay temporarily in the cottage.
During the next day the farm was visited by a high-ranking Secessionist officer. As soon as I saw him I recognized him from the photographs which had been published regularly in the Nationalist tabloid. His name was Lionel Coulsden, and before the war he had been a prominent campaigner for civil rights. During the period of Afrim infiltration of private property in the towns, he had renewed the commission he held earlier in the army and at the outbreak of overt military hostilities had been one of the leaders of the secession to the African cause. He was now a colonel in the rebel army, and was currently under sentence of death.
He spoke personally to Sally and me, and explained that we would have to leave. A Nationalist counter-attack was anticipated shortly and our lives would be in danger. He offered me an immediate commission into the Secessionist forces, but I turned it down, explaining that I had to consider Sally.
Before we left, he handed me a sheet of paper which explained in simple language the long-term aims of the Secessionist cause.
These were a restoration of law and order; an immediate amnesty for all Nationalist participants; a return to the parliamentary monarchy that had existed before the civil war; the restitution of the judiciary; an emergency housing-programme for displaced civilians; and full British citizenship for all contemporary African immigrants.
We were transported by lorry to a village eight miles from the farm. This, we were told, was in liberated territory. We noticed that there was a small Afrim army-camp situated near by, and we approached them for assistance in finding somewhere to stay temporarily. We were not greeted with the affability displayed by the Secessionist colonel, and were threatened with imprisonment. We left at once.