“It is our duty, Captain Curry. We cannot leave these people to the notsotender mercy of the tribesmen. It is out duty as civilized human beings.” There were others cut off in remote mission stations and government outposts throughout southern Kasai and Katanga; nothing had been heard of them for months, but their welfare was secondary to that of the settlement at Port.
Reprieve.
Bruce lifted the bottle to his lips again, steering with one hand and squinting ahead through the windscreen as he drank. All right, we’ll fetch them in and afterwards an ammunition box will be loaded on to a chartered aircraft, and later still there will be another deposit to a numbered account in Zurich. Why should I worry? They’re paying me for it.
“I don’t think we should mention the diamonds to my boys.” Ruffy spoke sadly. “I don’t think it would be a good idea at all.” Bruce slowed the truck as they ran into the industrial area beyond the railway line. He watched the buildings as they passed, until he recognized the one he wanted and swung off the road to stop in front of the gate. He blew a blast on the hooter and a gendarme came out and inspected his pass minutely. Satisfied, he shouted out to someone beyond the gate and it swung open. Bruce drove the truck through into the yard and switched off the engine.
There were half a dozen other trucks parked in the yard, all emblazoned with the Katangese shield and surrounded by gendarmes in uniforms patchy with sweat. A white lieutenant leaned from the cab of one of the trucks and shouted.
“Ciao, Bruce!”
“How things, Sergio?” Bruce answered him.
“Crazy! Crazy!” Bruce smiled. For the Italian everything was crazy. Bruce remembered that in July, during the fighting at the road bridge, he had bent him over the bonnet of a Land Rover and with a bayonet dug a piece of schrapnel out of his hairy buttocks - that had also been crazy.
“See you around,” Bruce dismissed him and led Mike and Ruffy across the yard, to the warehouse. There was a sign on the large double doors Dp& Ordinance - Aim& du Katanga and beyond them at a desk in a glass cubicle sat a major with a pair of Gandhi-type steel-rimmed spectacles perched on a face like that of a jovial black toad. He looked up at Bruce.
“Non,” he said with finality. “Non, non.” Bruce produced his requisition form and laid it before him. The major brushed it aside
contemptuously.
“We have not got these items, we are destitute. I cannot do it.
No! I cannot do it. There are priorities. There are circumstances to consider. No, I am sorry.” He snatched a sheaf of papers from the side of his desk and turned his whole attention to them, ignoring Bruce.
“This requisition is signed by Monsieur le President,” Bruce pointed out mildly, and the major laid down his papers and came round from behind the desk. He stood close to Bruce with the top of his head on a level with Bruce’s chin.
“Had it been signed by the Almighty himself, it would be of no use. I am sorry, I am truly sorry.” Bruce lifted his eyes and for a second allowed them to wander over the mountains of stores which packed the interior of the warehouse. From where he stood he could identify
at least twenty items that he needed. The major noticed the gesture and his French became so excited that Bruce could only make out the repeated use of the word
“Non’. He glanced significantly at Ruffy and the sergeant major stepped forward and placed an arm soothingly about the major’s shoulders; then very gently he led him, still protesting, out into the yard and across to the truck. He opened the door of the cab and the major saw the case of whisky.
A few minutes later, after Ruffy had prised open the lid with his bayonet and allowed the major to inspect the seals on the caps, they returned to the office with Ruffy carrying the case.
“Captain,” said the major as he picked up the requisition from the desk. “I see now that I was mistaken. This is indeed signed by
Monsieur le President. It is my duty to afford you the most urgent priority.” Bruce murmured his thanks and the major beamed at him. “I
will give you men to help you.”
“You are too kind. It would disrupt your routine. I have my own men.” Excellent,” agreed the major and waved a podgy hand around the warehouse. “Take what you need.” Again Bruce glanced at his wristwatch. It was still twenty minutes before the curfew ended at 06.00 hours. Until then he must fret away the time watching Wally Hendry finishing his breakfast. This was a spectacle without much appeal, for Hendry was a methodical but untidy eater.
“Why don’t you keep your mouth closed?” snapped Bruce irritably, unable to stand it any longer.
“Do I ask you your business?” Hendry looked up from his plate.
His jowls were covered with a ginger stubble of beard, and his eyes were inflamed and puffy from the previous evening’s debauchery. Bruce looked away from him and checked his watch again.
The suicidal temptation to ignore the curfew and set off immediately for the railway station was very strong. It required an effort to resist it. The least he could expect if he followed that course was an arrest by one of the patrols and a delay of twelve hours while he cleared himself, the worst thing would be a shooting incident.
He poured himself another cup of coffee and sipped it slowly.
Impatience has always been one of my weaknesses, he reflected; nearly
every mistake I have ever made stems from that cause. But I have improved a little over the years. - at twenty I wanted to live my whole life in a week. Now I’ll settle for a year.
He finished his coffee and checked the time again. Five minutes
before six, he could risk it now. It would take almost that long to get out to the truck.
“If you are ready, gentlemen.” He pushed back his chair and picked up his pack, slung it over his shoulder and led the way out.
Ruffy was waiting for them, sitting on a pile of stones in one of the corrugated iron goods sheds. His men squatted round a dozen small fires on the concrete floor cooking breakfast.
“Where’s the train?”
“That’s a good question, boss,” Ruffy congratulated him, and Bruce groaned.
“It should have been here long ago,” Bruce protested, and Ruffy shrugged.
“Should have been is a lot different from is.”
“Goddamnit! We’ve still got to load up. We’ll be lucky if we get away before noon,” snapped Bruce. “I’ll go up to the station master.” I “You’d better take him a present, boss. We’ve still got a case left.”
“No, hell!”
Bruce growled. “Come with me, Mike.” With Mike beside him they crossed the tracks to the main platform and clambered up on to it. At the far end a group of railway officials stood chatting and Bruce fell upon them furiously.
Two hours later Bruce stood beside the coloured engine driver on the footplate and they puffed slowly down towards the goods yard.
The driver was a roly-poly little man with a skin too dark for mere sunburn and a set of teeth with bright red plastic gums.
“Monsieur, you do not wish to proceed to Port Reprieve?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes.”
“There is no way of telling the condition of the permanent way. No traffic has used it these last four months.”
“I know. You’ll have to proceed with caution.”
“There is a United Nations barrier across the lines near the old aerodrome, protested the man.
“We have a pass.” Bruce smiled to soothe him; his bad temper was abating now that he had his transport. “Stop next to the first shed.”
With a hiss of steam brakes the train pulled up beside the concrete platform and Bruce jumped down.
“All right, Ruffy,” he shouted. “Let’s get cracking.” Bruce had placed the three steel-sided open trucks in the van, for they were the easiest to defend. From behind the breast-high sides the Bren guns could sweep ahead and on both flanks. Then followed the two passenger coaches, to be used as store rooms and officer’s quarters; also for accommodation of the refugees on the return journey.