African Sky by Tony Park Page A

signpost that pointed north to Victoria Falls. The stately colonial buildings and white-kerbed avenues soon gave way to rough tar and the thirsty brown bush of stunted acacias and forests of mopani trees. This close to the end of the dry season, everything was in desperate need of water, a step away from death. The climbing sun warmed the right side of his face.
    Once out of town the sealed road gave way to two parallel strips of tar, each about eighteen inches wide. Constructed between the wars, these ‘strip’ roads criss-crossed Rhodesia. The roads had provided work for soldiers returning from the First World War and had been laid for a fraction of the cost of a fully tarred highway.
    â€˜I take it Mrs De Beers knows we’re coming,’ Pip said.
    â€˜She knows about the aircraft crash investigation. I arranged this visit last week. If you want to know if I’ve called her and told her you’re coming too, the answer is no. I did try phoning her last night, but I couldn’t get through. She has a problem with elephants knocking down her phone lines.’
    â€˜All part of the fun of living in Africa.’
    â€˜There are worse places to sit out a war.’
    â€˜How did you end up here?’
    Where to start? He was reluctant to talk about himself. ‘You want the long or the short version?’
    â€˜It’s a five-hour drive.’
    â€˜I joined up in October, 1939. Couldn’t wait to get into the game.’ He remembered his naive mix of excitement and nerves as he’d fronted up to the recruiting office near Central Station in Sydney on a sunny spring morning. He’d done well at school and earned good enough marks to study mechanical engineering at the University of Sydney. Machines interested him, far more than a life on the land. His father was bent and bowed from a lifetime shearing, and with preciouslittle to show for his hard labour. The quiet home life on the farm where his uncle and aunt lived had started to bore him as he’d entered his late teenage years. He’d been a voracious reader and couldn’t wait to get out and explore the world. University was hard at first – most of the other men in the course were from families far better off than his. But he was a good rugby league player and had made friends soon enough on the field and off. He had only recently graduated when, for the second time in half a century, Europe’s problems became Australia’s.
    He shrugged. ‘I was working as an assistant engineer in a factory making parts for tractors.’
    â€˜Sounds like a good job. Why give it up?’
    â€˜You’re joking, right?’ he smiled. ‘I signed up for the air force. I’d been in the university air squadron and had been for a couple of flights in trainers. I fancied myself a fighter pilot.’
    â€˜Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly strike me as the Errol Flynn type.’
    He laughed. ‘No offence taken, though you’ve got to work on your flattery. You can blame football for the nose.’
    â€˜I mean you’ve got a bit more character about you than those recruiting-poster types.’
    He was silent for a moment. He glanced across at her and saw her cheeks had started to colour. He thought she had just complimented him, albeit in a backhanded manner. He wondered if she were trying to put him at ease before hitting him with more questions. Whatever she was up to, he reluctantly started talking – at least it would keep the conversation away from Flick’s death.
    â€˜Anyway, the RAAF – Royal Australian Air Force – took me on and I cooled my heels for about a year after initial training. Finally – it seemed like it took forever – they put me on a boat to here, via Egypt, the Suez Canal and Mombasa. That was early ’41. I’d never been out of Australia – it was quite an eye-opener, that cruise.’
    â€˜What did you