Wilbur Smith - Assegai

‘Oh, you won’t find du Rand at Tandala. He’s gone to Germany with von Meerbach.’

‘Good Lord.’ Leon was genuinely surprised. ‘How did that come about?’

‘The Graf must have taken a shine to him. Anyway, he’s gone. As I will have next Friday. I expect you to be at the station to give me a hearty send-off.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, General.’

‘A bit of double-entendre there, I suspect.’ Penrod stood up. ‘You’re dismissed.’

‘One last question, if I may, sir?’

‘Go ahead and ask it, but as I suspect I already know what your enquiry concerns, I don’t promise to answer.’

‘Do you have an arrangement in place for exchanging messages with Eva Barry while she’s in Germany?’

‘Ah! So that’s the young lady’s real name. I knew that von Wellberg was a nom de guerre . It seems you know a great deal more about her than I do. I apologize if that’s another double-entendre .’

‘None of that answers my question, General.’

‘It doesn’t, does it?’ Penrod agreed. ‘Shall we leave it at that?’

Leon rode out to Tandala Camp, and when he went into his tent he found Max Rosenthal packing his kitbag. ‘Leaving us, Max?’ Leon asked.

‘The locals are starting a pogrom against us. I don’t want to spend this war in a British concentration camp, like the ones Kitchener put up in South Africa, so I’m heading for the German border.’

‘Wise man,’ Leon told him. ‘Things are going to change around here. I’m going to the polo ground to talk to Gustav about the two aircraft. If you’re there at first light tomorrow morning, I may be able to give you both a lift south to Arusha and safety.’

It was dusk when Leon rode down the main street of Nairobi, but the entire town was bustling. He had to weave his way through the throng of Scotch carts and wagons, all crammed with the families of settlers coming in from the remote farms. A rumour was flying about that von Lettow Vorbeck had massed his troops on the border ready to march on Nairobi, burning and plundering the farms along the way. Major General Ballantyne’s men were erecting army tents on the KAR parade-ground to accommodate the refugees. The women and children were already settling in while their menfolk headed for the recruitment office in the Barclays Bank building where Lord Delamere was taking on men for his irregular regiment of light horse.

When Leon rode past the front of the bank the volunteers were standing in excited groups on the dusty street, discussing the prospect of war and how it would affect them in the colony. Their horses were saddled up, and they were dressed in hunting clothes. Most were armed with sporting rifles, ready to ride out to oppose von Lettow Vorbeck and his murderous askari . Leon knew that few of them had had any military training. He smiled pityingly. Silly beggars. They think it’s going to be a guinea-fowl shoot. They haven’t considered the possibility of the Germans shooting back.

At that moment a man ran out of the cablegram office across the street from the bank, waving a buff form over his head. ‘Message from London! It’s started!’ he yelled. ‘Kaiser Bill has declared war on Britain and the Empire! All aboard for glory, lads!’

There was a raucous chorus of cheers. Beer bottles were lifted high, and there were shouts of ‘Rot the bastard!’

Bobby Sampson was among a group of men, most of whom Leon knew. Leon was about to dismount and join them when a thought occurred to him. How is Gustav going to react to this declaration of war? What orders did Graf Otto leave for him to cover this eventuality?

He whipped up his horse and pointed its nose in the direction of the polo ground.

It was dark when he reached it. He pulled his mount down to a walk as he approached the hangar. There had been rain earlier and the ground was soft. The turf muffled the sound of the horse’s hoofs, and he saw light in the hangar through the tarpaulin wall. At first he thought that somebody was moving around inside with a lantern. Then he realized that the light was too ruddy, and that it was flickering.

Fire!

His premonition of trouble had been realized. He kicked his feet out of the stirrups and dropped to the ground. Silently he ran to the door and paused to assess the situation. The flame he had seen was a burning torch, which Gustav was holding aloft. By its light Leon saw that both aircraft were parked tail to tail on their usual stands at opposite ends of the hangar. Each had its own doorway, an arrangement that allowed them to be wheeled in or out without the other machine having to be moved.

Gustav had chopped up most of the heavy packing crates in which the planes had been shipped out from Germany and had piled the wood in a pyramid under the Butterfly ’s fuselage. His back was turned and he was so preoccupied with his preparations to burn the planes that he was unaware of Leon’s presence in the doorway behind him. He held the burning torch in his right hand, an open schnapps bottle in the left. He was in the middle of a drunken valediction to the two flying machines.

‘This is the hardest thing I have ever been asked to do. You are the fruit of my mind. You are the creation of my hands. I dreamed up every line of your lovely bodies, and I built you with my own hands. I laboured on you through long days and longer nights. You are a monument to my skills and genius.’ He broke off with a sob, took a long swig of schnapps and belched as he lowered the bottle. ‘Now I must destroy you. Part of me will die with you. I wish I had the courage to throw myself on your pyre, for after you are gone my life will be ashes.’ He hurled the torch towards the pile of wood, but the schnapps had affected his judgement and it arched up, leaving a trail of sparks. It struck the propeller of the near-side port engine and rebounded, falling to the floor of the hangar and rolling back to Gustav’s feet. With an oath he stooped to pick it up.

Leon rushed at him. He crashed into Gustav from behind just as his fingers closed on the handle of the burning torch. He knocked the German off his feet and the schnapps bottle shattered as it struck the floor, but somehow Gustav managed to keep his grip on the torch.

With amazing agility for such a big man he rolled on to his knees and glared at Leon. ‘I will kill you if you try to stop me!’ He threw the torch again, and this time it lodged on the wood. Leon wondered if Gustav had soaked it with petrol, but although the flame was still burning it did not explode. He ran forward, trying to reach it before the fire took hold.

Gustav staggered to his feet and blocked his path. He was leaning over, his head held low and his arms spread to prevent Leon reaching the spluttering torch. Leon ran straight at him, but before Gustav could grab him he used the momentum of his run and kicked him in the crotch. The rowel of his spurs ripped into the soft flesh between Gustav’s thighs. He screamed and reeled back, clutching his injured genitals with both hands.

Leon shouldered him aside and reached the wood. He grabbed the torch and hurled it towards the door. One of the planks of the packing crates was burning. He pulled it free, threw it to the ground and stamped on it to extinguish the flames.

Gustav leaped on to his back and wrapped a muscular arm around his neck in a deadly stranglehold. He had both legs locked around Leon’s body, riding him like a horse. He tightened his grip, and Leon choked.

Through streaming eyes he saw one of the propeller blades of the big Meerbach rotary engine hanging in front of him at head level. It was made of laminated wood, but the leading edge was clad with metal, like a knife blade. He pirouetted quickly, bringing Gustav in line with the blade, then ran backwards. It slashed into the back of the man’s skull, cutting to the bone and stunning him. His grip loosened and Leon tore himself free. Gustav was staggering in a circle, blood spurting from the wound. Leon clenched his right fist and punched the side of his jaw. Gustav went down, sprawling on his back.