CHAPTER 71
David woke up to find Gisela shaking him.
‘David, wake up!’ There’s something outside, the dogs are growling.’
‘The fuckin’ dogs growl at anything,’ he retorted, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, clearly irritated.
He moved towards the switch next to the bed against the wall. If activated, this started the generator. Suddenly he heard something heavy strike the steel mesh of the grille door and drop to ground with a heavy metallic sound. He immediately realised what it was.
‘Grenade! Take cover! Get down!’ he shouted, pure reflex, simultaneously depressing the switch and dropping to the floor.
The next moment the grenade exploded, the force slamming him into the bedside table driving the wind from his lungs, the blast deafening him. The doors were torn from their hinges, rushing into the room. Seconds later the outside security lights bathed the yard in light as the generator caught. Acrid smoke and dust filled the room, blinding him. David fought to recollect himself. He was sure that that they would charge the room or throw another grenade through the door. Although deafened, he could faintly hear the yelping of a dog. He knew he had to stop anybody getting near the doorway and groped around on the floor looking for his machine pistol. Where the hell were the security guards? There had been no shooting. It would’ve woken him. Were the guards still alive?
His fingers closed over the barrel of the gun. The doorway was illuminated by the outside lighting. He aimed the gun in that direction and let off a short burst to discourage anyone contemplating an entry.
‘Gisela! Are you all right?’ He shouted. He could now vaguely make out the interior of the room, lit up by the light outside.
‘I’m okay,’ she said. Her head appeared over the side of the bed where she had been thrown by the blast. A large mahogany hope chest at the end of the bed, about three feet in height, had absorbed most of the explosion.
The two dogs lay sprawled on the floor. They both appeared dead.
‘Just stay where you are,’ he said to Gisela and ran to the window.
The glass had been blow out and lay collected on the sill behind the mesh. He stared out into the yard, which was brightly lit. The start-up of the generator and the lights must have caught the terrorists by surprise, he thought. They were out there somewhere. He was sure they were waiting for him to make a move.
He turned around and looked at Gisela, still dressed in her negligée, staring at him, her expression registering shock. ‘Snap out of it. Get yourself some shoes and clothes and then bring your weapon. I want you to come here and keep a lookout while I get dressed.’ His ears rang and he hoped she could hear him. Worse, he wasn’t sure how loud his voice was.
About a minute later, she joined him at the window.
‘If you see anything just fire a burst in their general direction,’ he said and went back to find his things.
He returned, properly dressed, and brought three additional magazines for the MP4s.
‘I’m surprised they hit this place so soon again. Especially with two trained security guards around,’ he said. ‘We can only assume that they somehow overwhelmed the guards. They should have responded long ago,’ he said, unable to disguise his concern.
Gisela heard what he said but did not respond, still staring out into the yard.
Suddenly the throb of the generator slowed and then stopped, the light from the security lights fading out. The yard plunged into darkness again.
‘Come on, let’s get out here.’
He grabbed her by the arm and ran out of the broken entrance, nearly tripping over some rubble. They skirted along the wall of the outer building in the opposite direction of the generator plant, hoping that none of the killers were in that direction. Once away from the building, he stepped into some shrubbery and sank to his haunches, pulling her down next to him. He had to wait until his eyes adjusted properly to the darkness. He had one concern. The break in the fence was behind the property, which meant that to exit the compound the terrorists would have to pass this way. How many were there?
Slowly his surroundings began to take shape. He was now able to see the outer building and the yard. Nothing moved. They must have remained hunkered down for about five minutes when suddenly there was the sound of an object falling to the concrete floor of the yard. Quickly, he placed a restraining hand on Gisela, not wanting her to open fire.
‘Don’t shoot until we see something,’ he whispered.
They stared intently at the yard. The building cast a shadow in the moonlight, half the yard in total blackness.
He drew her close to him and whispered in her ear. ‘There’s only one thing to do. I’m going to make a run for the tractor.’ He pointed to where it was parked under a huge tree about twenty yards away. ‘They’re bound to open fire. The moment you see their muzzle flashes, fire a short burst in their direction and then fall flat as you can. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. Be careful!’
Bent over double, he broke out of the shrubbery. Immediately, there was the unmistakable of chatter an FN rifle on automatic, the bullets whipping past him like bees. Gisela opened up with a short burst. The FN fire ceased, David making it unscathed to the cover the tractor provided. He had seen where from the gunfire had originated. Behind the cover of the tractor, he lifted the machine pistol and sprayed a few shots in that direction, hoping that they would be forced out of the courtyard.
In the distance, he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle from the direction of the manager’s compound. The terrorists would have heard the same, he knew. This would force them to make their escape in his and Gisela’s direction. How many were there? he wondered.
Suddenly two rifles opened fire from different directions. Somehow, one of them had managed to flank him. He was now the target of a fusillade of shots. Something slammed into his right thigh pulling his leg from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. He heard an MP4 open up, followed by a loud cry.
Other than the sound of the vehicle, it was now deathly quiet. David could feel the blood pumping out of the wound. He was going to need urgent attention. He pulled his belt from his pants and fashioned a tourniquet, using the barrel of his automatic to twist the belt and stem the flow of blood.
‘Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot! I’m coming out with my hands in the air.’
This came from the direction of the courtyard. David crawled from behind the tractor wheel and peered around the corner. A man stood in the moonlight with his hands raised.
‘Don’t move. Gisela, shoot him if he even twitches.’ Then he shouted at the man. ‘How many are you?’
‘Two of us.’
‘Where is the other?’ David shouted again. He could hear the vehicle stop on the other side of the house.
‘Over to your right. I think he’s dead.’
David crawled slowly with the machine pistol at the ready, emerging from cover. He heard a groan. It seemed to emanate from behind a concrete stand with a thick, flat concrete slab table used to butcher game after a hunting trip. He approached, keeping the stand between him and whoever lay behind it.
‘Throw your gun out where I can see it, together with any pistols or grenades,’ he said.
There was a faint rustle of clothing and then the rifle emerged, pushed out along the ground. David bent forward and grabbed it.
‘There is nothing else,’ a voice croaked.
Still on his stomach, he slowly peered around the corner. The black man sat behind the slab leaning against the cement. He raised one arm, the other lay useless in his lap, the gunshot wound and blood visible on his right shoulder. He heard running footsteps.
‘Over here,’ he heard Gisela shout. ‘Go and help Mr Tusk over at the butcher block!’
The farm supervisor joined David, cradling his automatic rifle in front of his chest.
‘Boss, are you okay?’ the concerned supervisor asked.
‘I’ve been better, I’m bleeding like a pi
g. You’re going to have to get me to a hospital pretty quickly,’ he replied in an attempt at humour. Nobody laughed.
Another farmhand approached the intruder still standing with his hands in the air. He clubbed him with the rifle butt, the man falling to the ground. The generator started up again, flooding the yard with light.
‘Don’t do that!’ David shouted.
Gisela emerged from the shrubbery, the MP4 clutched in one hand, a SIG automatic in the other. She stopped in front of the fallen man, lifted the barrel of the automatic until it pointed at the fallen man’s head and pulled off two shots in succession, the man’s head jerking as the bullets impacted.
‘Jesus Christ!’ David screamed, ‘Are you fuckin’ insane!’ He was revolted and numb with shock. He simply could not comprehend what she had done. Her face was a mask of sheer hatred. She turned and walked in David’s direction, clear what her intentions were.
‘Fuck you, don’t! Gisela. I warn you, we’re not fuckin’ murderers,’ he shouted at her, raising the MP4 until it pointed at her.
‘The bastards, they’re the murderers, they kill innocent people, women and children and now you want to protect them. Suddenly, you’re a man of principle,’ she screamed, nearly incoherent.
‘Please Gisela, please! Calm down, you can’t do this,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level. He could feel himself weakening, the loss of blood beginning to tell. More armed men now surrounded the terrorist.
Gisela began to sob – huge racking sobs, which shook her body.
‘Why are we fighting this war?’ she cried in anguish. ‘Why?’ She sank to ground next to him. She suddenly saw the blood on his leg. Her hand flew to her mouth.
‘My God, you’re shot,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he said, ‘You have to get me to hospital.’
‘Bring the pickup,’ she shouted.
The truck was driven from the other side of the house and David, together with Siwze, were loaded onto the loading bay, the two men lying side by side, an armed farmhand at one end and the supervisor at the other. Gisela climbed in the front with the driver. The pickup drove off.
‘You shot me,’ David said.
There was a moment’s silence.
‘But you shot me!’
‘In self-defence. Do you really believe this is necessary?’ David said.
‘Do you think we have a choice? You grab our land, the best land. You treat us like slaves without a say in our own country. We want it back, so we have to fight. Even if this takes forever. We’ll fight you.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘So, there’s no chance of peace?’
‘Never!’
What’s your name?’
‘Sizwe.’
****
The BSAP was waiting as the pickup arrived at the local hospital in Centenary, immediately taking control of the wounded prisoner. David was wheeled into casualty, the resident doctor attending to his wound.
He woke up in the same ward where he had previously lain. When he opened his eyes, Gisela was standing next to him. He realised that his leg was encased in a cast of plaster of Paris to keep it rigid.
‘Hi!’ he said, a faint smile on his lips.
‘Hi, yourself,’ she whispered, taking his hand.
‘Promise me you’ll never do that again. You have to promise me that, sweetheart. I love you, but I can’t stay if you hate and kill like that.’
She started to cry. ‘Do you know how sorry I now am for what I did?’ she sobbed. ‘I promise.’
‘Thank you.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘You can’t ever leave me now. You and I are stuck with each other. I’m pregnant.’
‘Oh, God!’ he said smiling, elated with the latest development.
‘You know we’ll never stop them. We can shoot them, the government can hang them, but it won’t help. They will never stop fighting. Africa has changed: this will happen in Angola, Mozambique, and South Africa. One day we’ll have to give in to them,’ he said.
‘I never believed this before, but now I know you’re right.’
‘Can you live here knowing this?’ he asked.
She never hesitated. ‘Yes, I can.’
If you enjoyed The Blockade Runners, please share your thoughts on Amazon by leaving a review.
For more free and discounted eBooks every week, sign up to our newsletter.
Follow us on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram.
About the author
Peter Vollmer is the grandson of German colonists who settled in the German colony of South West Africa in the late 19th century. After living and studying in Namibia, France and England, Peter returned to his native South Africa. He was involved in assisting then Rhodesia when it declared UDI and assisted in breaking the embargo set by the United Nations.
His other novels include The Gunrunners, Diamonds Are But Stone, Per Fine Ounce and Left for Dead.
* * *
[1]
The Blockade Runners Page 33
