by Wilbur Smith
"My God, it's almost nine o'clock." Terry checked her wristwatch. "I fancy a bit of bed myself, how about you, Mr. Ironsides?"
"Let's hear the nine o'clock news first."
"Oh, Rod! Nobody ever listens to the news here. This is fairyland!"
Rod switched on the radio and the first words froze them both. They were "Sander Ditch'.
In horrified silence they listened to the report. Rod's expression was granite-hard, his mouth a tight grim line.
When the news report ended, Rod switched off the radio set and lit a cigarette.
"There is trouble," he said. "Big trouble. I'm sorry, Terry, we must go back. As soon as possible. I have to get back to the mine." "I know," Terry agreed immediately. "But Rod, I can't take off from this landing-strip in the dark. There is no flare path."
"We'll leave at first light." Rod slept very little that night.
Whenever she woke, Terry sensed him lying unsleeping, worrying. Twice she heard him get up and go to the bathroom.
In the very early hours of the morning she woke from her own troubled sleep and saw him silhouetted against the starlit window. He was smoking a cigarette and staring out into the darkness. It was the first night they had spent together without making love. In the dawn Rod was haggared and puffy-eyed.
They were airborne at eight o'clock and they landed in Johannesburg a little after ten.
Rod went straight to the telephone in Hank's office and Lily Jordan answered his call.
"Miss. Jordan, what the hell is happening? Is everything all right?"
"Is that you, Mr. Ironsides. Oh! Thank God! Thank God you've come, something terrible has happened!" Johnny Delange blew the face of the drive twice before nine o'clock, cutting thirty feet further into the glassy green dyke.
He had found that by drilling his cutter blast holes an additional three feet deeper, he could achieve a shatter effect on the serpentine rock which more than compensated for the additional drilling time. This next blast he was going to flout standard regulations and experiment with double-charging his cutter holes. He would need additional explosives.
"Big King," he shouted to make himself heard above the roar of drills.
"Take a gang back to the shaft station. Pick up six cases of Dynagel."
He watched Big King and his gang retreat back down the drive, and then he lit a cigarette and turned his attention to his machine boys. They were poised before the rock face, sweating behind their drills. The dark rock of the dyke absorbed the light from the overhead electric bulbs. It made the end of the drive a gloomy place, filled with a sense of foreboding.
Johnny began to think about Davy. He was aware suddenly of a sense of disquiet, and he moved restlessly. He felt the hair on his forearms come slowly erect, each on a separate goose pimple. Davy is here. He knew it suddenly, and surely. His flesh crawled and he went cold with dread.
He turned quickly and looked over his shoulder. The tunnel behind him was deserted, and Johnny gave a sickly grin.
"Shaya, madoda," he called loudly and unnecessarily to his gang. They could not hear him above the roar of the drills, but the sound of his own voice helped reassure him.
Yet the creepy sensation was still with him. He felt that Davy was still there, trying to tell him something.
Johnny fought the sensation. He walked quickly forward, standing close to his machine boys, as though to draw comfort from their physical presence. It did not help. His nerves were shrieking now, and he felt himself beginning to sweat.
Suddenly the machine boy who was drilling the cutter hole in the centre of the face staggered backwards.
"Hey!" Johnny shouted at him, then he saw that water was spurting in fine needle jets from around the drill steel.
Something was squeezing the drill steel out of its hole, like toothpaste out of a tube. It was pushing the machine boy backwards.
"Hey!" Johnny started forward and at that instant the heavy metal drill was fired out of the rock with the force of a cannon ball. It decapitated the machine boy, tearing his head from his body with such savagery that his carcass was thrown far back down the drive, his blood spraying the dark rock walls.
From the drill hole shot a solid jet of water. It came out under such pressure that when it caught the machine boy's assistant in the chest it stove in his ribs as though he had been hit by a speeding automobile.
"Oud" yelled Johnny. "Get out! And the rock face exploded. It blew outwards with greater force than if it had been blasted with Dynagel.
It killed Johnny Delange instantly. He was smashed to a bloody pulp by the flying rock. It killed every man in his gang with him, and immediately afterwards the monstrous burst of water that poured from the face picked up their mutilated remains and swept them down the drive.
Big King was at the shaft station when they heard the water coming. It sounded like an express train in a tunnel, a dull bellow of irresistible power. The water was pushing the air from the drive ahead of it, so that a hurricane of wind came roaring from the mouth of the drive, blowing out a cloud of dust and loose rubbish.
Big King and his gang stood and stared in uncomprehending terror until the head of the column of water shot from the drive, frothing solid, carrying with it a plug of debris and human remains.
Bursting into the T-junction of the main 66 level haulage, the strength of the flood was reduced, yet still it swept down towards the tilt station in a waist-deep wall.
This way!" Big King was the first to move. He leapt for the steel emergency ladder that led up to the level above.
The rest of his gang were not fast enough, the water picked them up and crushed them against the steel-mesh barrier that guarded the shaft. The crest of the wave burst around Big King's legs, sucking at him, but he tore himself from its grip and climbed to safety.
Beneath him the water poured into the shaft like bath water into a plug hole, forming a spinning whirlpool about the collar as it roared down to flood the workings below 66 level.
Leaving Terry at the airfield to solicit transport from Hank, the mechanic, Rod drove directly to the head of No. 1 shaft of the Sander Ditch. He jumped from the Volkswagen into the clamouring crowd clustered above the shaft head.
Dimitri was wide-eyed and distracted, beside him Big King towered like a black colossus.
"What happened?" Rod demanded.
"Tell him," Dimitri instructed Big King.
"I was at the shaft with my gang. A river leaped from the mouth of the drive, a great river of water running faster than the Zambesi in flood; roaring like a lion the water ate all the men with me. I alone climbed above it."
"We've hit a big one, Rod," Dimitri interrupted. "It's pouring in fast. We calculate it will flood the entire workings up to 66 level in four hours from now."
"Have you cleared the mine? "Rod demanded.
"All the men are out except Delange and his gang. They were in the drive. They've been chopped, I'm afraid Dimitri answered.
"Have you warned the other mines we could have a burst through into their workings?"
"Yes, they are pulling all their shifts out." "Right." Rod set off for the blast control room with Dimitri trotting to keep up with him.
"Give me your keys, and find the foreman electrician." Within minutes the three of them were crowded into the tiny concrete control room.
"Check in the special circuit," Rod instructed. "I'm going to shoot the drop-blast matt and seal off the drive." The foreman electrician worked quickly at the control panel. He looked up at Rod.
"Ready!" he said.
"Check her in," Rod nodded.
The foreman threw the switch. The three of them caught their breath together.
Dimitri said it for them: "Red!" On the conntrol panel of the special circuit the red bulb glared balefully at them, the Cyclops eye of the god of despair.
"Christ!" swore the foreman. "The circuit is shot. The water must have torn the wires out."
"It may be a fault in the board."
"No." The fo
reman shook his head with certainty.
"We've had it," whispered Dimitri. "Goodbye the Sander Ditchr Rod burst out of the control room into the expectant crowd outside.
"Johnson!" He singled out one of his mine captains. "Go down to the Yacht Club at the dam, get me the rubber rescue dinghy. Quick as you can, man." The man scurried away, and Rod turned on the electrician foreman as he emerged from the control room.
"Get me a battery hand-operated blaster, a reel of wire, pliers, two coils of nylon "rope. Hurry!" The foreman went!
"Rod." Dimitri caught his arm. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going down there. I'm going to find the break in the circuit and I'm going to blast her by hand."
"Jesus!" Dimitri gasped. "You are crazy, Rod. You'll kill yourself for sure!" Rod completely ignored his protest.
want one man with me. A strong man. The strongest there is, we will have to drag the dinghy against the flood." Rod looked about him. Big King was standing by the banks man office. The two of them were tall enough to face each other over the heads of the men between them.
"Will you come with me, Big King? "Rod asked.
"Yes," said Big King.
In less than twenty minutes they were ready. Rod and Big King were stripped down to sing lets and bathing-trunks. They wore canvas tennis shoes to protect their feet, and the hard helmets on their heads were incongruous against the rest of their attire.
The rubber dinghy was ex-naval disposal. A nine-foot air-filled mattress, so light that a man could lift it with one hand. Into it was packed the equipment they would need for the task ahead. A water-proof bag contained the battery blaster, the reel of insulated wire, the pliers and a spare lantern. Lashed to the eyelets along the sides of the dinghy were two coils of light nylon rope, a small crowbar, an axe and a razor-sharp machete in a leather sheath. To the bows of the dinghy were fastened a pair of looped nylon towing lines.
"What else will you need, Rod?" Dimitri asked.
Rod shook his head thoughtfully. "That's it, Dimitri.
That should do it."
"Right!" Dimitri beckoned and four men came forward and carried the dinghy into the waiting cage.
"Let's go," said Dimitri and followed the dinghy into the cage. Big King went next and Rod paused a second to look up at the sky. It was very blue and bright.
Before the on setter could close the shutter door, a Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce came gliding onto the bank. From the rear door emerged first Hurry Hirschfeld and then Terry Steyner.
"Ironsides!" roared Hurry. "What the hell is going on?"
"We've hit water," Rod answered him from the cage.
"Water? Where did it come from?"
"Beyond the Big Dipper."
"You drove through the Big Dipper?"
"Yes."
"You bastard, you've drowned the Sander Ditch," roared Hurry, advancing on the cage.
"Not yet, I haven't," Rod contradicted.
"Rod." Terry was white-faced beside her grandfather. "You can't go down there." She started forward.
Rod pushed the on setter aside and pulled down the steel shutter door of the cage. Terry threw herself against the steel mesh of the guard barrier, but the cage was gone into the earth.
"Rod," she whispered, and Hurry Hirschfeld put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the Rolls-Royce.
From the back seat of the Rolls, Hurry Hirschfeld was conducting a Kangaroo Court Trial of Rodney Ironsides.
One by one he called for the line managers of the Sander Ditch and questioned them. Even those who were loyal to Rod could say little in his defence, and there were others who took the opportunity to level old scores with Rodney Ironsides.
Sitting beside her grandfather, Terry heard such a condemnation of the man she loved as to chill her to the depths of her soul. There was no doubt that Rodney Ironsides, without Head Office sanction, had instituted a new development so risky and contrary to company policy as to be criminal in concept.
"Why did he do it?" muttered Hurry Hirschfeld. He seemed bewildered.
"What could he possibly achieve by driving through the Big Dipper? It looks like a deliberate attempt to sabotage the Sander Ditch." Hurry's anger began to seethe within him. "The bastard! He has drowned the Sander Ditch and killed dozens of men." He punched his fist into the palm of his hand. "I'll make him pay for this.
I'll break him, so help me God, I'll smash him! I'll bring criminal charges against him. Malicious damage to property.
Manslaughter. Culpable homicide! By Jesus, I'll have his guts for this!" Listening to Hurry ranting and threatening, Terry could keep silent no longer.
"It wasn't his fault, Pops. Truly it wasn't. He was forced to do it."
"Ha! snorted Hurry. "I heard you at the pit head a few minutes ago.
just what is this man to you, Missy, that you spring to his defence so nobly?"
"Pops, please believe me." Her eyes were enormous in her pale face.
"Why should I believe you? The two of you are obviously up to mischief together. Naturally you will try and protect him."
"Listen to me at least," she pleaded, and Hurry checked the run of his tongue and breathing heavily he turned to face her.
"This better be good, young lady," he warned her.
In her agitation she told it badly, and halfway through.
she realized that she wasn't even convincing herself. Hurry's expression became more and more bleak, until he interrupted her impatiently.
"Good God, Theresa, this isn't like you. To try and put the blame for this onto your own husband! That's despicable! To try and switch the blame for this..
"It's true! As God is my witness." Terry was almost in tears, she was tugging at Hurry's sleeve in her agitation.
"Rod was forced to do it. He had no option."
"You have proof of this?" Hurry asked drily, and Terry fell silent, staring at him dumbly.
What proof was there?
The cage checked and slowed as it approached 65 level. The lights were still burning, but the workings were deserted. They lugged the dinghy out onto the station.
They could hear the dull waterfall roar of the flood on the level below them. The displacement of huge volumes of water disturbed the air so that a strong cool breeze was blowing up the shaft.
"Big King and I will go down the emergency ladder. You will lower the dinghy to us afterwards," Rod told Dimitri.
"Make sure all the equipment is tied into it."
"Right Dimitri nodded.
All was in readiness. The men who had come down with them in the cage were waiting expectantly. Rod could find no reason for further delay.
He felt something cold and heavy settle in his guts.
"Come on, Big King." And he went to the steel ladder.
"Good luck, Rod." Dimitri's voice floated down to him, but Rod saved his breath for that cold dark climb downwards.
All the lights had fused on 66 level, and in the beam of his lamp the water below him was black and agitated. It poured into the mouth of the shaft, bending the mesh barrier inwards. The mesh acted as a gigantic sieve, straining the floating rubbish from the flood. Amongst the timber and planking, the sodden sacking and unrecognizable objects, Rod made out the water-logged corpses of the dead pressed against the wire.
