inches long. You will learn where to put it and how. With that in your hand you carry death within three seconds.’
The explosives instructor was a Japanese called Kato. Mirek had been led to believe that Japanese were polite people. Kato was not. He confronted Mirek outside a thick concrete bunker. A short, stocky man of indeterminate age. His face was square and his lips downturned in a permanent sneer. One arm was stiff with a black glove on the hand. Kato held it up.
‘I lost this because somebody fucked up. Not me. A fucking fool.’ He gestured with it at the bunker and then at a thick high wall fifty yards away. ‘Here it is not only theory. Here we make things to blow things up. Buildings, cars . . . and people. It is fucking dangerous, Werner. If you make a mistake here you are dead. I don’t give a fuck about you dead or alive, but your mistake can also blow me up . . .’ Mirek nodded soberly. Kato snorted. ‘You think you understand but you don’t. When you’re holding a rocker bomb in your hands, trying to place it . . . then you’ll understand. You’ll understand with the sweat in your eyes and your balls cringing into your fucking belly.’ He smiled evilly and pointed to the thick high wall. ‘But you’ll be doing that on your own behind there and I’ll be here waiting with a bucket and spade in case the explosion is premature.’
Coldly Mirek said, ‘I’m sure with such a good instructor such an event won’t happen.’
Kato’s sneer deepened and he turned to the bunker saying, ‘I’ve lost two in this camp. Such things usually go in threes.’
The bunker was air conditioned and dehumidified. One part of It was sealed off with steel doors. To one side were half a dozen wooden chairs facing a blackboard. The other side, screened off by a glass partition, was a fully equipped laboratory. Kato gestured at the blackboard.
‘Here you learn the theory. Here you learn how to make the bombs; rocker bombs, radio-controlled bombs, body bombs, land mines, sea mines, door mines, limpet mines . . .’ The evil grin again. ‘I could even teach you how to make nuclear bombs . . . but I won’t. I’m Japanese. The Emperor would not like it.’
Mirek could not tell whether he was being serious or ironic.
Kato gestured at the lab. ‘There you do the practical. You learn how to make a bomb with ingredients you can buy in any chemist shop. You learn to make a bomb as small as your finger or big enough to blow up a city block.’ He tapped Mirek gently on the arm. ‘You will also learn to make a bomb which you can swallow and carry in your body into any place and destroy anyone.’ He sighed sadly. ‘But I assume you are not a Muslim anxious for instant and eternal paradise.’
Mirek shook his head.
‘Not even by accident.’
He did not settle into a routine. He was hammered into it. The camp arose an hour before dawn. Everyone without exception. For half an hour Mirek did his finger exercises, then washed and shaved. Frank was strangely insistent on that. Either you had a beard or you shaved every day. Clean fatigues were worn every day. There was no precision drill as such, but Frank liked things done in an orderly way. Just before dawn the trainees gathered in the canteen and drank tea or coffee or tinned fruit juice. At dawn they were in the compound doing exercises. Everyone did them, trainees and instructors alike, led by Leila. These varied, but after about forty-five minutes always ended with press-ups. Each trainee had to go on until he could not do a single one more. When the last trainee was flat on his stomach, body heaving and face twisted in agony, the instructors would continue and do a brisk ten more. Mirek vowed on the third morning that by the time he left he’d outlast them all. Even Leila.
After exercises came the ‘run’. Again, everybody in the camp did it. On alternate days it was either four miles carrying a twenty-kilo pack, or eight miles carrying nothing.
The explosives instructor was a Japanese called Kato. Mirek had been led to believe that Japanese were polite people. Kato was not. He confronted Mirek outside a thick concrete bunker. A short, stocky man of indeterminate age. His face was square and his lips downturned in a permanent sneer. One arm was stiff with a black glove on the hand. Kato held it up.
‘I lost this because somebody fucked up. Not me. A fucking fool.’ He gestured with it at the bunker and then at a thick high wall fifty yards away. ‘Here it is not only theory. Here we make things to blow things up. Buildings, cars . . . and people. It is fucking dangerous, Werner. If you make a mistake here you are dead. I don’t give a fuck about you dead or alive, but your mistake can also blow me up . . .’ Mirek nodded soberly. Kato snorted. ‘You think you understand but you don’t. When you’re holding a rocker bomb in your hands, trying to place it . . . then you’ll understand. You’ll understand with the sweat in your eyes and your balls cringing into your fucking belly.’ He smiled evilly and pointed to the thick high wall. ‘But you’ll be doing that on your own behind there and I’ll be here waiting with a bucket and spade in case the explosion is premature.’
Coldly Mirek said, ‘I’m sure with such a good instructor such an event won’t happen.’
Kato’s sneer deepened and he turned to the bunker saying, ‘I’ve lost two in this camp. Such things usually go in threes.’
The bunker was air conditioned and dehumidified. One part of It was sealed off with steel doors. To one side were half a dozen wooden chairs facing a blackboard. The other side, screened off by a glass partition, was a fully equipped laboratory. Kato gestured at the blackboard.
‘Here you learn the theory. Here you learn how to make the bombs; rocker bombs, radio-controlled bombs, body bombs, land mines, sea mines, door mines, limpet mines . . .’ The evil grin again. ‘I could even teach you how to make nuclear bombs . . . but I won’t. I’m Japanese. The Emperor would not like it.’
Mirek could not tell whether he was being serious or ironic.
Kato gestured at the lab. ‘There you do the practical. You learn how to make a bomb with ingredients you can buy in any chemist shop. You learn to make a bomb as small as your finger or big enough to blow up a city block.’ He tapped Mirek gently on the arm. ‘You will also learn to make a bomb which you can swallow and carry in your body into any place and destroy anyone.’ He sighed sadly. ‘But I assume you are not a Muslim anxious for instant and eternal paradise.’
Mirek shook his head.
‘Not even by accident.’
He did not settle into a routine. He was hammered into it. The camp arose an hour before dawn. Everyone without exception. For half an hour Mirek did his finger exercises, then washed and shaved. Frank was strangely insistent on that. Either you had a beard or you shaved every day. Clean fatigues were worn every day. There was no precision drill as such, but Frank liked things done in an orderly way. Just before dawn the trainees gathered in the canteen and drank tea or coffee or tinned fruit juice. At dawn they were in the compound doing exercises. Everyone did them, trainees and instructors alike, led by Leila. These varied, but after about forty-five minutes always ended with press-ups. Each trainee had to go on until he could not do a single one more. When the last trainee was flat on his stomach, body heaving and face twisted in agony, the instructors would continue and do a brisk ten more. Mirek vowed on the third morning that by the time he left he’d outlast them all. Even Leila.
After exercises came the ‘run’. Again, everybody in the camp did it. On alternate days it was either four miles carrying a twenty-kilo pack, or eight miles carrying nothing.
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