The Soldier who Said No by Chris Marnewick

for your blessings on this family. Amen.’
    De Villiers found his own appetite as he watched them eat. Between the three of them, they finished what was left of the food and drink. Emma played the gracious hostess and drew the security men into discussing their families. They learnt that both Te ’O and Leauanae were from Samoa, and had come to New Zealand as schoolboys to live with family. They were sending the bulk of their earnings to their parents ‘back home’, as they put it, every month.
    Te ’O looked at his watch and stood up. ‘We’re on duty. Thanks for the lunch, Ma’am,’ he said. ‘If you need help to get him back to his bed, just give us a shout.’
    De Villiers played to their mood. ‘I can get there myself,’ he said. ‘And what could you do to force me, anyway?’ he teased.
    ‘You’d be surprised how easy it is to carry a little fellow like you,’ Leauanae said, ‘across the shoulder or under one arm.’ He flexed his biceps.
    ‘Okay, okay,’ De Villiers said. ‘I’ll do as I’m told!’
    When the picnic basket had been repacked, De Villiers lay on his back and looked up at the sky. Clouds were racing across it. It would rain soon, but for the moment it was a beautiful day. There was a jacaranda tree in full bloom, with an equally tall pohutakawa thirty metres away. Under the pohutakawa’s heavy blanket of dark green foliage the soil was moist, covered with moss and lichen, with several species of ferns and lilies in deep shadow. The jacaranda was behind De Villiers in the dry, rocky area of the garden, with very little by way of leaves and sparse growth in the sun-baked soil beneath it. The oily sweet smell of the jacaranda’s lilac flowers made a good change from the antiseptic smell of the hospital gown. It reminded him of spring in Pretoria.
    The nurse came down and insisted that De Villiers return to his bed. They made the journey back with meticulous care, a solemn procession crawling like a centipede around the side of the building. At the main entrance Te ’O came to his side and held De Villiers’s arm. They passed the reception desk under the gaze of Sister Appollus’s disapproving eye.
    The sheets were cool and De Villiers fell asleep immediately.

Southern Angola
May 1985
10
    When he was sure everyone had left, De Villiers got up quickly, discarding his disguise. He toyed with the idea of scavenging for the buried ration packs. Troops assured of a regular supply seldom finish the entire contents in one sitting, but he knew that it would take time and that it might give away his position should the patrol return.
    De Villiers planned his actions before he moved. He would make his way north at a brisk pace, in the tracks of his pursuers, heading towards Vila Nova Armada. This time he would not bother to hide his tracks. Speed was more important than stealth now. He consulted his map – it had taken some water damage but was still usable. The town was just below the confluence of the Cuito and Longa Rivers. In reality, the town was no more than a collection of decrepit, bulletridden buildings, but the map showed boats next to its name. From their briefing, De Villiers knew that the town had a dock where the Portuguese kept their patrol boats during the rainy season when they could patrol the Cuito River as far north as Cuito Cuanavale. A military base, but one with a naval purpose. The soldiers would have been marines, he postulated.
    He had to find water and something to eat. De Villiers knew that if he did not find water soon, he might as well surrender to the first enemy patrol that came along. He sat down and opened his map. It was a military map with fine topocadastral lines and gave the detailed positions of rivers and streams. After studying the map for some minutes, De Villiers calculated that he was no more than ten kilometres from Vila Nova Armada, the Cuito River about three kilometres to the east of his position. He considered his situation carefully. Should