“Generally we slept on anything that flew, but not that night. We sat there with our hands on our rifles and our eyes on one another and I think we all wondered who would be the first to crack, the first to talk. Rupert de Jager and Speckle Venter and I, who thought we should keep quiet; Red and Clinton and Gerry and Koos, who wanted us to talk; and Bushy Schlebusch with nothing in his eyes. I didn’t know where he stood. Tension, hell, there was so much tension between us you could have cut it with a panga, but Brits had no clue, he was too busy with his maps and papers and his little flashlight, and every few minutes he would check whether we were staring at him.
“We landed at a godforsaken stretch somewhere in northern Angola. They’d lit fires to mark the runway. We climbed out and positioned ourselves on one knee, rifles facing outward as Brits had briefed us, while he spoke to two guys. And then first they brought petrol for the Dak in a tank on a small van and then a whole lorryload of Unitas arrived and Bester told us to relax, that it was part of the plan, as if he was our squad leader. They brought a wooden box that it took four men to carry and loaded it into the plane and Brits said we must get in and we took off, and I tried to keep my bearings, but in the air at night it’s impossible. I thought we were flying south or east, and we sat there again with our red eyes and memories of the Parabats in our heads, and Speckle got up and went to sit next to Bushy and spoke to him for a long time, right in his ear, and then he sat in his own seat again.
“After two hours in the air we descended again and Brits said now we had to be alert, that this was the sensitive part of Operation Orion, and we went in and landed, somewhere – it was an endless stretch of bushveld and grass and stones. This time there were flares next to the landing strip, and Brits was the first to get out and we followed again in V formation, and then two men came driving up in a Land Rover. They got out and Brits went over to them and chitchatted. Then he looked in the back of the Landy and came back and told Bushy we must take out the wooden box and bring it. Bushy pointed to Speckle and me and we climbed back in and brought it – it was heavy – and put it down. The two strangers came across and Brits opened it and there were uncut diamonds everywhere, wrapped in plastic bags. One guy whistled and said, ‘Will ya look at that,’ in a thick American accent.
“ ‘Shall we make the exchange?’ Brits asked, and the other Yank said, ‘You betcha,’ and Brits closed the box and told us to put it in the back of the Landy and load the stuff in the Landy onto the plane. Speckle and I took the box and carried it to the back of the Landy, the Americans and Brits with us. In the back of the Land Rover there were cartons, a whole load of them, with the names of tinned food on them, closed with masking tape, and I thought it was odd, diamonds for tinned food, until I picked one up and it wasn’t tinned food. I didn’t know what it was. We each carried one to the Dak, and when no one could see us in the aircraft, Speckle slit it open with his bayonet and made a long ‘Shhhh’ sound. It was packed with dollars, dollars, and more dollars, and then he said to me, ‘Do you really think Red and the others are going to keep quiet, Porra?’ That was my nickname; Vergottini is Italian, but because my father had a fish-and-chip shop in Bellville…
“I said no. And he said if I wanted to get out of the thing, I had to keep my head because things were going to happen, and then we went out to fetch more cartons and I saw him giving Bushy a sign, covertly, with one hand, and when we reached the Landy he shot one American, and when he fell, he shot the other.”
“Mr. Vergottini – ”
“Peter. Or Miller. Just give me a chance. If I could get something to drink?”
“Of course. I’ll send for coffee.”
“Coffee would be good.”
“Sugar? Milk?”
“Two sugars and milk, please.”
“Just a moment.”
“Would you like to get up? Stretch your legs?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Coffee is coming.”
“Thank you.”
“Wouldn’t you like to take a break?”
“I want to finish.”
“We understand.”
“I wonder.”
♦
“I’ll remember Brits’s face in that moment until the day I die. The disbelief. The fright. The surprise. It was all there. I think they were the first dead bodies, the first people he had seen with bullet wounds. There was nausea as well, which we all get the first time. But the disbelief was the greatest. He looked at Speckle, at the Americans, at Speckle again, his mouth open, his eyes big and round, his hands trying to stop something, but Speckle had already turned to the others.
“ ‘Now I want to know who’s going to talk,’ he said. ‘Bushy and I know where we stand. And I think I know where Porra and Rupert stand.’ And Bushy turned and aimed his rifle at Gerry and Clinton and Red and Koos. ‘The others must think very clearly,’ Speckle said, and then he walked to the plane and climbed in and we heard another shot. It was the pilot – he shot the pilot.
“Some day someone must explain to me how the psychology of the thing worked. I know we were tired. We had barely slept in four days, we were finished. I doubt whether any of us could think any longer; we were simply a bundle of raw nerves. The Parabats haunted us – not only what had happened, but what lay ahead. For me it was pitch-dark, I knew it wasn’t something you simply erased from your life, from your head, but hell…
“Bester Brits got his voice back. ‘What are you doing, what are you doing?’ he asked Speckle when he climbed out of the Dak, and Speckle thrust his Star pistol into his face and said, ‘Where are we?’ Brits shook like a leaf and tried to bat the gun away and Speckle hit him with the butt and he fell and Speckle held him down with his foot and asked again where we were. I think Bester knew he was going to die there – he had seen it in Speckle. ‘Botswana,’ he said. Speckle removed his foot and Bester tried to get up, got to his knees, and then Speckle asked, ‘Where in Botswana?’
“ ‘North, just west of Chobe.’ And then Speckle thrust the barrel into his mouth and he fired and turned round and asked me, ‘Porra, are you with me?’
“What could I say, Jesus, what could I say…”
“Gently does it, Mr…Miller.”
“I’ll see where the coffee is.”
“Please let me finish.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I must.”
“Very well.”
“What could I say? There are only two choices: you die quickly or you die slowly, and I wasn’t prepared to die quickly. I wake up next to my wife and then I’m there again and I have to choose again, and every time I choose to die there, but that night, that morning, I chose the other way. I said, ‘I’m with you, Speckle,’ and then he asked Rupert and Rupert’s mouth contorted and he looked at Brits and he looked at Speckle and he said, ‘I’m with you, Speckle’ and Gerry de Beer started crying like a child and Red Verster was the only man that night – he jerked up his R1 and then Bushy shot him and Speckle fired as well, shot Gerry and Red and Clinton Manley and Koos van Rensburg, shot them like dogs. And then it was quiet and I saw Rupert de Jager’s body jolting with shock, and Speckle said, ‘I know how you feel, Rupert, but I’m not throwing away my entire fucking life for an accident that was no one’s fault in a war where it’s kaffir against kaffir in a country that feels fuck-all for me. Not me. If you want to cry, you can cry, but I want to know if you’re still with me.’