his neck.
Krige moved from the corpse, still carrying his Beretta as he went to the stairs. He climbed them to Shozi’s room and studied the view from the window, delving into the recesses for Setlaba’s guards. There were two he could see, each near the corners. A third man walked up and, after talking to the other two, went on his circular path.
Krige turned the light on and returned to the lounge. He could hear the men out the back, getting nearer and he extinguished the overhead beam and lamps. He shifted one of the curtains, millimetres, looking for the guards he had seen. One was visible, the other blanked out by the end of the porch. He thought it unlikely they were carrying guns, if the three he had encountered were typical. He was surprised Shozi hadn’t provided his men with arms; AK47s were easily procured. They might have saved his life.
Krige gave the third man he had seen time to walk around the building but he did not appear. He parted the centre of the curtains and opened the board, going onto the grey slate. He thought of picking off the two guards with the silenced gun but the light and range were against him and he left the porch at a run, bisecting the distance between the two men. He was almost through the gap before they saw him. They hesitated under the inertia of surprise then shouted and set off in pursuit, waving their long knives, their powerful legs driving them on swiftly. They were ten years younger, used to arduous journeys on foot and he could feel them gaining on him. Their cries aroused others, who also joined in the chase, coming in a swathe past the house with the noise of an infantry charge.
Near the kopje , with the two men closing in, Krige stopped, realizing he wouldn’t make it into the rocks, and whipped up the gun, steadying himself. But he had left it late and they were quickly within striking range, scything the blades in large circles. Miraculously he evaded the steel and with the others arrowing in he danced out of reach. The gun popped, spewing out a fusillade that brought them down. Going low, he prepared for the attack from behind. There were five, three bunched together and the others to his left. Choosing the group of three he fired again, intermittently spraying their bare bodies with the bullets, killing them as they tumbled, skittles in an alley. He turned on the last two. They were nearly on him, their pangas poised in readiness. His finger tensed again but before he could fire there were two shots behind him, fusing together to be almost one and they threw their arms into the air, harmlessly releasing their pangas and sticks as they fell. Stunned, Krige saw Dalton appear from the rocks, as calm as if he had just come in from an afternoon stroll.
‘They nearly had you Major.’
Krige got up. ‘Two more to your score,’ he gritted acidly. That Dalton had possibly saved his life angered him and there was no place for gratitude.
Shouts came from the house and the lights went on downstairs. The verandah doors were opened and the remaining men came out. Krige started running from the scene. ‘Get the rifle. Our work here is finished. Shozi’s dead.’ He followed Dalton through the rocks and after retrieving the rifle they went along the stream for Malakazi, finding their way without difficulty in the dark.
They took the trail used by the guerillas and pushed hard over the rough terrain, alternately walking and running for thirty metres at a time. Behind them the voices of the guards slowly died as they lost their quarries and after an hour they stopped, leaving the trail and taking refuge in the grass.
Chapter 27
Malakazi township
‘We’re twenty minutes from Malakazi,’ said Krige, his head between his legs as he rested.
‘ How did you kill him?’ asked Dalton. He lay down, pulling his holstered pistol away from the ground.
‘He got a bullet in the head,’ said Krige without emotion. ‘Teichmann will get his headlines.’
Dalton howled
Krige moved from the corpse, still carrying his Beretta as he went to the stairs. He climbed them to Shozi’s room and studied the view from the window, delving into the recesses for Setlaba’s guards. There were two he could see, each near the corners. A third man walked up and, after talking to the other two, went on his circular path.
Krige turned the light on and returned to the lounge. He could hear the men out the back, getting nearer and he extinguished the overhead beam and lamps. He shifted one of the curtains, millimetres, looking for the guards he had seen. One was visible, the other blanked out by the end of the porch. He thought it unlikely they were carrying guns, if the three he had encountered were typical. He was surprised Shozi hadn’t provided his men with arms; AK47s were easily procured. They might have saved his life.
Krige gave the third man he had seen time to walk around the building but he did not appear. He parted the centre of the curtains and opened the board, going onto the grey slate. He thought of picking off the two guards with the silenced gun but the light and range were against him and he left the porch at a run, bisecting the distance between the two men. He was almost through the gap before they saw him. They hesitated under the inertia of surprise then shouted and set off in pursuit, waving their long knives, their powerful legs driving them on swiftly. They were ten years younger, used to arduous journeys on foot and he could feel them gaining on him. Their cries aroused others, who also joined in the chase, coming in a swathe past the house with the noise of an infantry charge.
Near the kopje , with the two men closing in, Krige stopped, realizing he wouldn’t make it into the rocks, and whipped up the gun, steadying himself. But he had left it late and they were quickly within striking range, scything the blades in large circles. Miraculously he evaded the steel and with the others arrowing in he danced out of reach. The gun popped, spewing out a fusillade that brought them down. Going low, he prepared for the attack from behind. There were five, three bunched together and the others to his left. Choosing the group of three he fired again, intermittently spraying their bare bodies with the bullets, killing them as they tumbled, skittles in an alley. He turned on the last two. They were nearly on him, their pangas poised in readiness. His finger tensed again but before he could fire there were two shots behind him, fusing together to be almost one and they threw their arms into the air, harmlessly releasing their pangas and sticks as they fell. Stunned, Krige saw Dalton appear from the rocks, as calm as if he had just come in from an afternoon stroll.
‘They nearly had you Major.’
Krige got up. ‘Two more to your score,’ he gritted acidly. That Dalton had possibly saved his life angered him and there was no place for gratitude.
Shouts came from the house and the lights went on downstairs. The verandah doors were opened and the remaining men came out. Krige started running from the scene. ‘Get the rifle. Our work here is finished. Shozi’s dead.’ He followed Dalton through the rocks and after retrieving the rifle they went along the stream for Malakazi, finding their way without difficulty in the dark.
They took the trail used by the guerillas and pushed hard over the rough terrain, alternately walking and running for thirty metres at a time. Behind them the voices of the guards slowly died as they lost their quarries and after an hour they stopped, leaving the trail and taking refuge in the grass.
Chapter 27
Malakazi township
‘We’re twenty minutes from Malakazi,’ said Krige, his head between his legs as he rested.
‘ How did you kill him?’ asked Dalton. He lay down, pulling his holstered pistol away from the ground.
‘He got a bullet in the head,’ said Krige without emotion. ‘Teichmann will get his headlines.’
Dalton howled
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