by Tony Park
‘All right, then,’ She laughed and took up the slack on the trigger.
‘Catherine, drop it!’ Paul bellowed.
She spun around, raising her free hand to her eyes, searching for the location of the voice. ‘Where’s Hendrick?’
‘He failed his first flying lesson.’
‘Come out now, wherever you are. If you don’t show yourself on the count of three, I’ll kill Philippa. One . . .’
‘Drop the pistol, Catherine.’
‘Two . . .’
‘Stay where you are, Paul!’ Pip cried. She sat up and started to crawl towards Catherine.
‘Down, Pip, stay down!’ he yelled.
Pip dropped and lay on her back. She looked up at Catherine, silhouetted against the sun, and prayed it wouldn’t hurt too much. At least Catherine’s plot had been foiled.
‘Three!’
Pip shut her eyes and heard the deafening thunder of gunfire. Not one bullet, but a storm of them, filling the air above her. She shrieked as Catherine’s body fell across her injured ankle.
Paul leaped from the cockpit and ran through a fog of lingering cordite smoke. He’d had no idea where the rounds from the Harvard’s two .303 Browning machine-guns would fall. He’d hoped the fusillade would be enough to shake Catherine. He hadn’t expected to hit her.
But he had. ‘Pip, are you all right?’ he said as he grabbed Catherine’s lifeless wrist and pulled her body away.
Pip fought for breath. ‘I’ll live, Paul, I’ll live. There’s a man been hit, over by the hangar. His name’s Kenneth.’
‘Kenneth?’ Bryant bent over her, put an arm under her knees and one under her neck and lifted her, like a child. ‘We’ll go check on him now. You’re safe, Pip. I won’t leave you again.’
They paused to look down at Catherine. A stream of bullets from one of the Harvard’s guns had caught her in the stomach, almost severing her torso from her legs. She stared skywards, eyes wide in shock.
‘The gas?’ Pip asked.
‘One bomb’s gone for sure, along with Reitz. The air force will have to search for the wreck of the Harvard. I hit the ground before I saw it crash.’
‘It was a nightmare, Paul, what they had planned for Africa.’
‘Well,’ he said as he carried her back across the runway, towards the hangar, ‘their dreams are over now.’
Epilogue
Four weeks later
For a time she allowed herself the fantasy that they were a normal couple. The semblance of married life and domestic normality they had enjoyed were an almost dreamlike counter to the nightmarish few days over which they’d first met.
The bullet wound in her arm was healing well, but it was a constant reminder that things had never actually been normal for them at all.
‘Hello?’ he called, and she heard the front door creak open.
‘You’ve been busy again today,’ he said as she rose on her toes to kiss him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her close for a few moments longer.
‘Well, Enoch did most of the painting. He’s a star considering he’s only recently recovered from pleurisy.’
Enoch Ngwenya had come to work for Pip on the farm as a general handyman. The old man had been more than happy to turn his back on Isilwane, which had been thoroughly searched, with no result, for any evidence that might indicate Catherine De Beers was working with any other enemy agents.
‘The place looks so much bigger and cheerier in light colours,’ Paul commented approvingly, walking through the latest freshly painted room. Long gone, on a bonfire, were any photos or remembrances of Pip’s dead husband or his family. ‘I stopped in on Kenneth today. He’s recovering well, for someone who took a bullet in the guts. The doc says he’ll be fine in time.’
‘Thank God for that. Any news on the missing bomb?’ He had told her the air force and police were organising yet another search for the crashed aircraft and its payload, having yielded nothing on two previous sweeps of the approximate location Paul had supplied.
‘Nothing. It’s a big area of bush to search, and there were no reports from any landowners in the area of smoke or fire. It’s a worry if that bomb survived. Who knows where it might end up.’
Pip hoped the hideous device was never found. She wanted no more reminders of the past, just a future to look forward to. They had said their goodbyes, together, to Felicity Langham, Pip laying a dozen red roses on the grave, while Paul stepped back, solemnly, and saluted the deceased airwoman.
Though still on leave while her injury healed, Pip had been given a promotion to acting sergeant, on the basis that she reveal nothing of the plot by Reitz and Catherine to commit mass murder at the graduation parade. As far as the official report went, the one that was released to the newspapers, a German spy had been uncovered by the police and killed while trying to escape. The government had decided to quash the release of any information about poison gas, in case it sparked mass hysteria. Reitz’s mission, according to the propagandists, had been to set up an Ossewa Brandwag cell in Rhodesia, and he had failed.
‘So, other than that, how was your day?’ She moved to the sideboard and opened a beer for him.
‘Thanks,’ he said, accepting the drink. ‘You know, I can’t wait for work to end at the base each day, to get back out here to the farm. It’s bliss. I can see myself as a gentleman farmer one day.’
She frowned. They were not married, although they lived as though they were. They had agreed to put off talk of their future until they knew where the air force would next send Paul. Wing Commander Rogers had survived, barely, as base commander at Kumalo, but both he and Paul had agreed it would be best if Paul moved on, to serve under someone else.
Although not his wife, Pip knew Paul intimately enough to read his moods. ‘You didn’t answer my question. You’ve got news, haven’t you?’
He walked outside, and she followed him through to the courtyard where he had sat that first time, when she had heard of Charlie’s death. ‘Sit down, Pip.’
He told her of the posting order that had come through, to a pathfinder squadron in England, equipped with twin-engine Mosquito bombers. He would be flying fast, ahead of the massed bomber streams, dropping flares to light up their targets. It was dangerous work, reserved for the best pilots in the command. He would leave for England in two weeks’ time.
She was silent for a while as she sipped her drink. ‘You told me they would give you the posting of your choice, Paul. I thought you might move to another base near Bulawayo, or at least still in Rhodesia, maybe as commanding officer. You said you’d never leave me.’
He looked at the ground, then into her eyes. ’There’s work still to be done, Pip. I’m a pilot, not a bureaucrat. I’ve got to do this.’
Tears streamed from her eyes. ‘I know.’
The first of the Dakota’s two engines coughed to life with a belch of black smoke. It was time. He set the duffle bag down on the Tarmac, turned to her and took her hands in his. They were both in uniform, Pip having returned to work at the police camp the week before.
‘It’s time,’ she said, taking a deep breath to help ward off the tears, for his sake. He kissed her.
‘Pip, you know you don’t have to wait for me. I might . . . well, you know, it’s not over yet. The war, I mean. The odds are . . .’
She knew what he was trying to say, and she wanted to silence him before the fear overwhelmed both of them. As much as she wanted him to stay, she knew he couldn’t, not if he were going to remain the man he’d become again. She put a finger to his lips. ‘There are still people like Catherine De Beers and Hendrick Reitz out there, Paul. I don’t think we’ll ever be completely free of them, but I’d hate to live in their world, a world without hope.’
The odds of him surviving another operational tour were not worth contemplating. But Pip had given him something he’d not had in a long time.
‘Hope,’ he said, then he kissed her goodbye for the last time.
Historica
l Note and Acknowledgements
By any measurement, the Empire Air Training Scheme was a massive undertaking. More than 37,000 Australian pilots and other aircrew were trained under the scheme during World War Two, including 583 who undertook instruction in Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe).
Fifty of those Australian servicemen are buried in Zimbabwe, in Bulawayo, and at the other major training centres, Gweru and Harare (formerly Gwelo and Salisbury).
The fact that at its peak the Empire Air Training scheme was producing 50,000 graduates a year in Rhodesia, Australia and Canada says as much about the efficiency of the training as it does about the horrific losses suffered in the allied air forces, particularly in bomber command.
As in other countries that went to war, women played a vital role on the home front in Rhodesia, freeing up men for military service by taking jobs as policewomen, railway workers, parachute packers, aircraft fitters and mechanics and a host of other occupations hitherto reserved for men.
There is one woman buried in the RAF/military section of Bulawayo Cemetery, a Rhodesian Leading Aircraftswoman. Of course, there is no suggestion she met her fate in the same way as Felicity Langham; however, when I first visited the graveyard, with the rough idea of the book in my mind, this discovery was enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.
The information about the Ossewa Brandwag (OB), its membership and rituals, largely came from For Volk and Führer by Hans Strydom, a factual account of Operation Weissdorn, in which the former South African heavyweight boxer Robey Leibbrandt, trained by the Germans as a spy, attempted to assassinate Prime Minister Jan Smuts in 1941. Leibbrandt was the inspiration for my Hendrick Reitz.
The idea for an OB attack on the Empire Air Training Scheme came from a brief reference in a book called A Dream’s Reality, by Kelvin Hayes, DFC, an excellent first-hand account of life as a wartime RAAF fighter pilot. Mr Hayes, who was trained in Rhodesia, talks of base security being increased one night because of fears of an OB raid.
While we might think of weapons of mass destruction as a relatively modern concept, I was surprised, as some readers may be, to learn that sarin gas, the lethal substance used in the Tokyo subway attack, was indeed invented by the Germans prior to World War Two. Fear of reprisals and like attacks by the allies caused the Germans to hold off ever using it.
I am grateful to a number of sources and individuals for my research into the Empire Air Training Scheme, and life in 1940s Rhodesia.
In Zimbabwe, I would like to acknowledge the help of the Bulawayo city hall historical collection; the staff at the Zimbabwe military museum; and the British South Africa Police (BSAP) collection, at Gweru.
Mrs Esme Stewart, of Bulawayo, provided a wealth of written and anecdotal information about her years as a young woman during the war. It was a conversation with this delightful lady that prompted me to write the book in the first place.
Nick and Alison Jones, of Sydney, and Alison’s mother, Dorothy Crombie, kindly provided additional information about life in wartime Bulawayo. Dave Munro and former BSAP officer John Bennett helped me with several questions about police uniforms and equipment.
Isobel ‘Scotty’ Wrench read the draft manuscript and provided invaluable suggestions, as well as information about Sir Godfrey Martin Huggins, former Prime Minister of Southern Rhodesia.
The Royal Australian Air Force museum at Point Cook, in Victoria, gave me a valuable starting point for information on the AT-6 Harvard aircraft and the Empire Air Training Scheme.
Thanks also to Jeff Mueller, of Sydney, who took my wife, Nicola (who, at five foot two, made a good Pip Lovejoy stand-in), for a memorable joy flight in his immaculately restored Harvard as part of our research. Jeff read and corrected early drafts of the flying scenes, and also came up with the means of sabotaging a Harvard, as employed by Hendrick Reitz in the book. You can see his Harvard at www.australianwarbirds.com.au
Ace aerobatics pilot, fellow author and good friend David Rollins helped me navigate Paul Bryant through some gut-wrenching aerial manoeuvres. If you liked this book, you’ll love his work. His latest is The Death Trust, also published by Pan Macmillan.
Don Caldwell-Smith, of Lindfield, Sydney, a wartime Lancaster pilot in the Royal Australian Air Force, kindly took the time to answer my many questions, and provided me with anecdotes and books which added immeasurably to my research on bomber command and the men who served in it.
The Nanton Lancaster Society in Canada, which houses a Lancaster bomber, provided advice and copies of original flight manuals to give me some tips on what could go wrong with an aircraft’s landing gear, and how Paul Bryant would go about landing his stricken kite.
Sheila Bunnage from the Freedom of Information Cell at RAF Head Quarters Personnel and Training Command, at RAF Innsworth, UK, provided historical information about wartime air force protocols relating to funerals.
As is and always should be the case, if I’ve got something wrong, it is due solely to me, and not to any of the individuals who have helped me, or sources I have drawn upon.
In Zimbabwe, my thanks go to Sally, Dennis and Liz, and Don and Vicki for being great friends and fantastic hosts.
As usual, my daydreams would be nothing more than that without the support and input of my wife, Nicola; mother, Kathy; and mother-in-law, Sheila, who all read early drafts and gave full and frank advice (it gets fuller and franker with every book) and constructive feedback.
While some writers bridle at suggested edits to their manuscripts, I can only stand in awe at the skill, insight and passion of the hardworking team at Pan Macmillan. Far more than Publishing Director, Deputy Publishing Director, Senior Editor and Fiction Publicity Manager, I’m proud to call James Fraser, Cate Paterson, Sarina Rowell and Jane Novak friends. And, although I’ve never met her in person, copy editor Julia Stiles teaches me more and more about writing with every book.
MORE BESTSELLING FICTION AVAILABLE FROM PAN MACMILLAN
Tony Park
Far Horizon
Former Australian Army officer Mike Williams is trying to forget a troubled past with a carefree existence as an overland tour guide in Africa. But then one day on the road, he receives word that the South African Police have some news for him.
A bloody and tragic run-in with ivory hunters in Mozambique the year before had left Mike’s world in shreds. But now the authorities are on the poachers’ trail and they need his help to catch them.
Tenacious English journalist Sarah Thatcher is along for the ride, and insists on becoming involved. Mike must choose between his duty to keep the young tourists in his care safe and his hunger for retribution. Sarah will risk anything and anyone for a story, but never could have predicted the trouble she would find herself in.
The murderous hunters and the innocent travellers are on a parallel journey through Africa’s most spectacular locations. Eventually their paths will cross and Mike will have his shot at revenge . . . but at what cost?
Tony Park
Zambezi
News of the death of a young research assistant, reportedly killed by a man-eating lion in Zimbabwe, reaches those closest to her. Jed Banks, a Special Forces soldier serving in Afghanistan; Professor Christine Wallis, a wildlife researcher in South Africa; and Hassan bin Zayid, a hotel magnate in Zambia. The victim was respectively their daughter, protégée and lover.
Driven to find out exactly what happened, Jed, accompanied by Christine, travels to the banks of the Zambezi to investigate. Not only does Jed learn some shocking truths about the daughter he thought he knew, but he begins to suspect that Christine is withholding crucial information. Meanwhile, Hassan’s grief is dangerously volatile.
The magnificence and terror of Africa is the backdrop to this superb successor to the best-selling Far Horizon.
Praise for Far Horizon:
‘Park’s description of the South African landscape is sharp and sensory . . . As much as Far Horizon is an action-driven popular novel of adventure and pursuit, it
is also a love story’
WEST AUSTRALIAN
‘An enthralling page-turner . . . [Tony Park] clearly has an extensive knowledge of Africa’
WHO WEEKLY
David A Rollins
The Death Trust
When the commander of the vast NATO Ramstein Air Base in Germany, United States General Abraham Scott, is killed in what appears to be a glider accident, Washington reluctantly assigns its only available investigator, washed-up Special Agent Vincent Cooper, to the case. When the crash turns out to have been sabotage, Cooper suddenly finds himself immersed in a highly sensitive murder investigation – the general was married to the US Vice President’s daughter.
Cooper discovers that the apparently fine, upstanding General Scott kept some highly questionable company. And so begins an investigation that takes Cooper and his uncooperative partner, Special Agent Anna Masters, from the biggest air base in Europe to the streets of Baghdad; from the headquarters of a people smuggler in Riga to harrowing Chechen rebel combat operations against the Russians.
Cooper and Masters uncover a plot so monstrous it threatens to engulf the US military-industrial complex in a scandal of explosive proportions – as well as destroy the very fabric of contemporary society.
John Birmingham
Final Impact: World War 2.3
As history reaches a tipping point, the forces unleashed by the Transition threaten to bring the future crashing down in ruins. Will Hitler and Tojo finish their race towards an atom bomb? Is another catastrophic wave of destruction about to sweep out of a revitalised Soviet Union? What price will Kolhammer and his people pay for disrupting their own past?
Praise for Weapons of Choice: World War 2.1:
‘Weapons of Choice . . . With a thermal shock, blasts the alternative history airport novel out of the genre field’
WEEKEND AUSTRALIAN
Praise for Designated Targets: World War 2.2:
