The man who led the Special Force unit on its forced march through the dripping forest into Kerewata was no stranger to extremes of hardship and danger, but he knew that this would be one of the toughest assignments his men had yet been called upon to undertake. The brief of Peter de Salis, former army major and one-time commander of Ferret Force, was to kidnap Nkrombe.
Chapter Seven
THE GIANT, FOUR-ENGINED BLACKBURN BEVERLEY TRANSPORT aircraft came drumming down to land unheralded at the Warambe airstrip, landing in an amazingly short distance for an aircraft of its size. Yeoman, who was not exactly happy about unauthorized aircraft movements with Warambe on a state of full alert, drove out with Bright and a couple of armed soldiers to confront its crew. The wind was somewhat taken out of his sails when he recognized the first man to emerge from the huge aircraft’s belly. It was Air Commodore Sampson.
‘Good morning, Yeoman,’ he said, as though holding a conversation over a cup of coffee in some civilized English drawing-room. ‘Before you say anything, my apologies for the unannounced arrival. It was necessary to maintain radio silence, you see. I didn’t want to advertise our presence to anyone who might be listening.’
Yeoman looked past the air commodore. The big clamshell doors at the rear of the Beverley’s cargo hold had opened and various items of equipment were being unloaded. Sampson caught the direction of Yeoman’s gaze.
‘Don’t concern yourself with that,’ he said. ‘The signals people are moving in. I want to keep in touch with various parts of the world without having to go through various laborious channels of communication.’ He gave an unaccustomed smile as he noticed Yeoman’s raised eyebrows.
‘I know exactly what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘You are being kept in the dark, just like you were in Muramshir. Well, let me assure you that nothing from now on will happen without your knowledge, or indeed without your approval, since you are the operational commander here.’ He laid emphasis on the word ‘operational’, and Yeoman was conscious of the fact that as of now, if there were major decisions to be made, it would be Sampson who would make them.
Cautiously, he said, ‘I take it you have a further briefing for me, sir?’
Sampson nodded. ‘Yes, but first some refreshment. It has been a thirsty flight.’ He made as though to walk towards Yeoman’s Land-Rover, then halted suddenly and faced the younger man.
‘One other thing. The Beverley will remain where it is for the time being and no-one, no-one at all, is to be allowed near it without my orders.’
Yeoman had already noted a curious thing: several heavily-armed men, who looked as though they belonged to the Royal Air Force Regiment, had emerged from the Beverley and positioned themselves protectively around it. Why anyone should trouble to place a transport aircraft under heavy guard was a mystery to him, unless there was something very important inside it.
Later, in the seclusion of Yeoman’s office, Sampson did nothing to enlighten him about the Beverley’s contents, although he did bring him up to date on the situation in Kerewata. Things, Yeoman soon discovered, were not all they appeared to be.
‘This operation,’ Sampson told him, ‘originally got under way following a request from our Foreign Office to safeguard Warambe’s interests in the light of a probable threat from across the border. The threat still exists, but matters are no longer quite as simple as we had anticipated. Our operations here are now part of a much wider spectrum of activities, carried out under the authority of the Security Council of the United Nations.’
He placed his fingertips together and rested his chin on them, an old habit recognized by Yeoman as a prelude to some deep revelation. The air commodore continued: ‘Let me explain the situation as Nkrombe sees it, according to our latest sources of information. First of all, his projected invasion of Warambe is little more than a sideshow, even though his intention is to neutralize the colony’s economy by destroying the uranium mines. We are still not entirely certain how he plans to do this, although we have some indications.’
He paused, frowning a little, while Yeoman lit his pipe. Sampson was a non-smoker. Giving an exaggerated cough, he went on with his explanation.
‘In his present situation, Nkrombe is a dangerous man. You see, he has an ambition to set himself up as some sort of emperor over a large tract of Central Africa. In other words, he is going full out to exploit the present turmoil. As you will doubtless appreciate, he has to be stopped.’
‘Why not just have him bumped off?’ asked Yeoman forthrightly. Sampson smiled, a little condescendingly.
‘Ever the bluff Yorkshireman,’ he said. ‘That would be the easy way out, but it would lead to far more strife in the long run. We would be blamed immediately, and there would be a big outcry from several African states who, technically at least, are our friends. No, we have to be much more subtle than that.’
This chap, Yeoman thought, has more tricks up his sleeve than Professor Moriarty. He sucked his pipe and waited for whatever was coming next.
‘Fortunately,’ Sampson said, ‘our plans are assisted by the fact that there are two separate factions in Kerewata. On the one hand there is Nkrombe’s small regular army; on the other there are his mercenaries. We happen to believe that Nkrombe has made a big mistake in employing the latter, because feelings against the whites are running high throughout the Congo, and we know that some of Nkrombe’s native officers are bitterly discontented about being compelled to take orders from foreigners. It was only the presence of the mercenaries that prevented them from joining in the mutiny of the Congolese Army a few weeks ago.’
‘Perhaps that was why Nkrombe recruited them in the first place,’ Yeoman interrupted. ‘Perhaps he was shrewd enough to realize what would happen, once the Congo achieved independence from Belgium and became a republic.’
Sampson nodded. ‘Yes, to some extent. We know that there is no love lost between Nkrombe and the Congolese Republic’s prime minister, Patrice Lumumba; Lumumba has too many leanings towards his friends behind the Iron Curtain, and Nkrombe has no wish to be a puppet in a Soviet-controlled regime. There can be little doubt, now, that the mutiny of the Congolese Army was the result of a carefully-orchestrated plan; one just has to look at the quantities of Russian and Czech weapons and supplies that were flown into the Congo immediately after the mutiny to realize that. Lumumba, in fact, was jockeying for a position of complete dictatorship. Take a look at this.’
He handed Yeoman a typewritten document. He perused the wording, and realized at once that he was looking at relevant extracts from some sort of manifesto.
‘Never be afraid of convincing people of our superiority or of inspiring imitation of us,’ he read, ‘for behind us we have a supreme power that will help us in anything whatsoever, with no hesitation. After other tribes are intimidated by our threats and shouting, we will be ready to submit them to complete domination. Do not forget that the white man is our enemy. Without him the Congo would already have been our domain, because during Arab times, our race had already ravaged several countries and had put them under our domination. The masses must be incited so that they never practice or believe the Christian religion, so that they can rebel against all the missionaries and priests more easily. It is very necessary to send our own people to all the universities of the world — the largest number of them to Russia, where they will have the most privileges.’
Yeoman looked up at the air commodore. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.
‘It’s a document issued by Lumumba to his own tribe, the Bakusu, during the Republic’s first elections,’ Sampson replied. ‘The underlying trend is very clear, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But Lumumba has been deposed, hasn’t he?’
‘That’s true,’ Sampson agreed. ‘He has been ousted by President Kasavubu, but he is still very much in evidence, even though Kasavubu is lined up with Mobutu, his chief of staff. Then there’s the problem of Moise Tshombe, who has grabbed Katanga province for himself and declared it independent, in much th
e same way as Nkrombe controls Kerewata. It all adds up to confusion, murder and rape. You know what’s been happening to the whites in the Congo, don’t you?’
Yeoman nodded grimly. The appalling atrocities that had been committed during the mutiny by Congolese troops had caused a stir of revulsion throughout the world.
‘But where exactly does Nkrombe figure in all this?’ he wanted to know.
‘I was coming to that,’ Sampson explained patiently. ‘Nkrombe, at the moment, is supported by the strongest mercenary force in the Congo and, as I have pointed out already, he plans to use it to establish himself as an overlord. What Nkrombe does not know, however, is that his own native troops are on the verge of revolt. The seeds of revolution have been sown among them, too.’
‘Then that ought to be the end of everyone’s problems,’ Yeoman said. Sampson shook his head.
‘Not a bit of it. You see, Nkrombe has the potential, with the right kind of schooling, to weld together the warring factions in the Congo. Don’t forget that he is anti-communist, which counts for a great deal. Forgetting his aspirations towards Warambe for the moment, he has a great deal of potential as a valuable ally. If we allow him to be murdered by his own troops, it will destroy the one man we — and by “we” I mean the western alliance — can bring round to our way of thinking.’
‘So what do you intend to do?’ Yeoman asked.
Sampson looked at him for a few moments, then said, ‘Kidnap him. Remove him out of harm’s way. In that way we shall kill two birds with one stone. Our friendly African nations will applaud the fact that we took action to rescue an African leader from a bloody coup, and we shall be able to make a deal with Nkrombe once he is in our hands.’
Yeoman was dubious. ‘It sounds a bit risky to me,’ he said. ‘For a start, how do you propose to get Nkrombe out of Kerewata? According to the American pilot we captured, he is very heavily guarded, both by mercenaries and his own men.’
‘The plan is already being implemented,’ Sampson told him. ‘We have, at this moment, forces at work inside Kerewata. Their brief is to wait until Nkrombe’s attack on Warambe is launched and his forces are fully engaged, and then go in and grab him. I think — ’
He broke off suddenly as Yeoman raised a hand, placing the index finger of the other against his lips in a gesture of silence. Quickly, Yeoman rose to his feet and took a few silent paces across the room to the door. In one swift movement, he seized the handle and yanked the door open.
Hoskins stood outside, clenched fist raised as though he had been about to knock. He was red in the face, and had an evasive look in his eyes, like a boy caught in the act of smoking an illicit cigarette in the school lavatory.
‘Yes, Henry,’ Yeoman said quietly, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘Sorry to trouble you, old boy,’ Hoskins blustered. ‘Just thought I’d pay you a visit. Haven’t had much contact with each other over the last day or two, and I really would like to know what’s going on. Don’t like not being kept in the picture, and all that.’
‘You’d better come in, Henry,’ Yeoman said, holding the door open. Hoskins stepped into the room and came to a halt, staring at Sampson, who rose and introduced himself before Yeoman had a chance to carry out any such formality. Yeoman noticed that he did not use his rank.
‘I am very pleased to meet you, Colonel Hoskins,’ Sampson said. ‘We at the Foreign Office are not unaware of your valuable work in assuring Warambe’s security. I take it your men are ready to meet the possible threat from across the border?’
Hoskins was taken aback by Sampson’s suave compliment. ‘Oh, why, most certainly,’ he said. ‘Brave as lions. Nothing to worry about in that direction, I can assure you.’
‘Excellent. Now, if you don’t mind, I do have a little business to discuss with Group Captain Yeoman. I shan’t keep him long.’
Hoskins looked put out. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said, with a certain amount of ill grace. ‘I’ll see you later, Yeoman old boy. Catch up with you in the bar before dinner, if you aren’t too busy, that is.’ He made no attempt to disguise the sarcasm.
Hoskins left the room, and a few moments later they saw him pass by the window, accompanied by one of his NCOS. Yeoman looked at Sampson.
‘There’s something I ought to tell you,’ he said. ‘I don’t trust that chap.’
‘Neither do I, Yeoman, and believe me I have very sound reasons for not doing so. I hope he didn’t overhear too much. Colonel Hoskins, I feel, is not all he seems to be.’
Yeoman removed his pipe from his mouth and regarded the other man directly.
‘I get the impression,’ he stated, ‘that you know more about Hoskins than you are prepared to admit. Am I right?’
Sampson leaned back in his chair. ‘Very well. I’ll tell you this much. Hoskins is an impostor. In the closing months of the war he was a sergeant in the Army Pay Corps, stationed at Rawalpindi. There were, shall we say, certain discrepancies in the accounts, directly attributable to our friend. He was court martialled, spent a year in military prison, and dismissed from the Service. We have not yet worked out how he came to be here in Warambe; he was already in residence when the present governor was appointed, and the man’s records were all in order. According to his personal file, he was a “hostilities only” man who came out of the army with the rank of major after six years of exemplary service. The record does indeed refer to a Major Hoskins who served in India — but he was posted as missing, believed killed, at Imphal in 1944. God knows how this chap got hold of the relevant documents, or how he managed to elaborate on them without being detected.’
‘Good Lord!’ Yeoman exclaimed. ‘We’d better have him removed, right away.’
Sampson shook his head. ‘No, that’s the last thing we want. Hoskins is up to something, something big, and we need to know what it is. Let’s give him plenty of rope and act as though we think he’s genuine. He is under discreet surveillance, so he can’t get up to much without us knowing about it.’
‘This gets more complicated by the minute,’ Yeoman complained. ‘On the one hand there’s this plot to kidnap Nkrombe, which I knew nothing about, and on the other there’s the devious Hoskins, who isn’t really Hoskins at all. Oh, yes, and there’s an impending invasion, which is the reason for my presence here. Forgive me if I sound a little bewildered.’
‘All three factors appear to be interlinked in some way, Yeoman,’ the air commodore told him. ‘And, insofar as your task in Warambe is concerned, that remains unchanged — except for one detail. Your Hunters may be required to fly in support of the special forces’ group tasked with bringing Nkrombe out of Kerewata.’
‘But, won’t that mean operating inside Kerewata air space?’ Yeoman asked. ‘I thought that was contrary to orders.’
‘Orders change, Yeoman, to suit the circumstances. You ought to know that by now.’ Not for the first time in Sampson’s presence, Yeoman felt as though he were back at grammar school, being lectured by his headmaster. ‘As I explained earlier,’ Sampson continued, ‘we are now operating under the authority of the United Nations, so you will be quite within your rights to infringe Congo air space on UN duty. Which reminds me — you had better order your men to paint out the RAF markings on your aircraft and replace them with “UN” insignia. Do it now: you may have to go into action sooner than you think.’
Yeoman reached for a telephone and gave the necessary instructions. All the Hunters, with the exception of the pair sitting at the end of the runway on airfield defence readiness, would be sporting their new insignia before nightfall.
*
Fifty miles away, on the other side of the river, the Colonel was briefing his pilots. All Nkrombe’s units, supported by mercenaries, were in position; the attack on Warambe’s river frontier defences would begin at 0200.
The Colonel seemed a little disappointed as he spoke to his men, and it was not hard to understand why.
‘Nkrombe’s native troops,’ he told them, ‘have orders to cross t
he river at three points, here, here and here.’ He tapped a map, laid out on the table around which the pilots were clustered. ‘This is designed to give the impression that a full-scale attack is taking place, which, as you now know, it is not.’
He leaned forward, his hands on the table-top. ‘Once they cross the river,’ he went on, ‘they will certainly be attacked by the British Hunters, starting at first light. It will not be possible for the British aircraft to strike before that, for they are day fighters, like our own Sabres.’
An expression of annoyance passed over his features. ‘We ourselves are to patrol the west bank of the river in sections of three — one section on patrol, another en route, and the third ready to take off, so that we shall be providing constant air cover. Under no circumstances, however, are we to cross the river to engage the Hunters. Only if they penetrate our air space are we to attack them. Let us hope that they decide to take that risk.’
‘Excuse me, sir.’ It was one of the Germans who spoke. The Colonel looked at him questioningly.
‘Are we to understand, sir, that our orders forbid us to give support to the Kerewatan troops, even though they may come under intense pressure?’
‘You understand quite correctly,’ the Colonel told him. ‘The orders are Nkrombe’s, not mine. I do not pretend to agree with them; my function is to obey them.’
He completed his briefing, then dismissed the men. The sun was already sinking. He had already ordered his pilots and ground crews to get a few hours’ sleep before 0130, when they would be called to standby, and he intended to do the same, but first of all he had a call to make.
He was just in time. Koppejans was about to depart to take command of his men, who were encamped midway between Kerewata and the airfield. Twenty of them were already with Nkrombe’s forces in the capacity of advisers; the rest, including Koppejans, were to take no part in the forthcoming action. Koppejans made it quite plain that he did not like the way in which his mercenary force had been split up.
Hunter Squadron Page 9
