Solo

the big picture, Adeka. It’s uncanny, man. And he distributes all the ordnance from the Janjaville flights – you get what he gives you. He seems to know what he’s doing – for a black brigadier.’ He smiled at Bond. ‘Fancy a drink?’
    He didn’t wait for a reply and led Bond over to a US Army jeep with a canvas canopy and a tall whippy aerial. In the back was an impressive-looking, many-dialled radio set and a young man in an over-large tin helmet sat there listening to the traffic. Breed reached into a knapsack and brought out a bottle of schnapps. He fished around some more and came up with two cloudy shot glasses. He set the glasses down on the jeep’s bonnet and poured them both a drink. Bond didn’t feel like drinking with Breed but perhaps some hard liquor was required after what he’d witnessed in the village.
    ‘
Proost
,’ Breed said, and they both knocked back the schnapps in one. Bond felt his throat burn. Strong stuff. Breed topped them up.
    ‘So,’ Bond said. ‘Matebeleland, 1966 . . . Rhodesian African Rifles?’
    ‘No. Light Infantry. The good old RLI.’ Breed pointed at the two scars on his cheek. ‘I got shot in the face by a ZANLA terr. Thought he’d killed me. I was six months in a hospital in Salisbury then I was invalided out of the army. Lucky for me Hulbert Linck came by recruiting. Five thousand US a month in any bank in the world you choose. Hard to resist. So me and a few of my RLI mates signed up for Dahum. They’re a good bunch of guys, though, the Dahum grunts. When the juju man fires them up they’ll fight till they drop.’ He grinned. ‘That’s why, in spite of everything, we’re winning. We’ve got bigger balls than the Zanzaris.’
    Bond said nothing. Breed poured another schnapps.
    ‘What do you think, Bond?’ he suggested. ‘There’s a little club in town – nice atmosphere, good music, European alcohol, very obliging girls. They like us white boys fighting for their country. Want to meet there tonight?’
    Bond did not want to go out on the town with Kobus Breed. Not in a thousand years.
    ‘Actually, I’m not sure I can make it. Copy to file.’
    Breed’s finger tapped the Dahum flag on Bond’s jacket.
    ‘You could pass for one of us.’
    There was an audible crackle of static from the radio in the jeep and Breed turned to see what was going on. The operator was intent, concentrating, nodding.
    ‘It’s for you, Boss.’
    Breed strode over and put on the headphones. As he listened he looked progressively more serious.
    ‘Yah. OK – roger that.’ He took off the headphones and wiped his eye.
    ‘What’s up?’ Bond asked.
    ‘A pretty major shit-storm. All this stuff we did here today was a feint. There’s another Zanza Force column moving on the airstrip.’ He gestured at the radio, ‘That came from Adeka.’
    ‘Himself?’
    ‘No. But relayed from him. I got to move, man. This is serious.’
    ‘Mind if I tag along?’ Bond suggested, spontaneously.
    Breed looked at him, a little askance. When he spoke his voice was heavy with scepticism.
    ‘You ever been in combat?’ Breed asked.
    Bond smiled, tiredly. ‘You ever heard of World War Two?’

·14·
     

THE BATTLE OF THE KOLOLO CAUSEWAY
     
    Bond stood with Breed on a small bluff and looked through binoculars at the view. A little bit of orientation and a few glances at Breed’s map had made everything fairly clear.
    The village of Kololo, the main Dahumian strongpoint guarding this eastern approach towards Janjaville, had been lost, abandoned. Some huts in the village were on fire – apparently there had been a MiG airstrike. The troops that had been manning it had fled the village and had retreated across the 200-yard causeway that ran above a great swathe of swampland and had regrouped on the far side, barricading the road with logs and oil drums, ready to repel any new advance out of the village along the causeway.
    Bond could see that the village was thick with Zanza Force soldiers and he could spot one Saracen armoured car with a roof turret sheltering by the gable end of a mud hut that was close to the road leading to the causeway. He suspected they were waiting for the MiGs to return before they continued their advance. He remembered Blessing’s remarks about their lack of military zeal.
    ‘Well, at least there’s only one direction they can attack from,’ Bond said. ‘But that barricade will last twenty seconds in the face of that Saracen.’ He turned to