A Time to Die - Smith Wilbur - Страница 39
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Comrade China was high on the wanted list of the Rhodesians.
He was the area commander of the entire northeastern sector, the equivalent of a major general and one of their most successful commanders, a man with a lot of interesting stories to tell to military intelligence.
"Make sure he gets out safely, Captain," Sean ordered brusquely. "Treat him like your new wife."
"China refuses to march," Job said. "We can't shoot him, and we can't carry him. He knows that."
under guard, Sean strode across to where the prisoner was held squatting sullenly with his hands behind his head.
"On your feet and march," Sean ordered. Comrade China spat on Sean's boots. Sean unbuckled his holster and drew the.357 Magnum revolver. He laid it against the side of the man's head.
"On your feet," he repeated. "Your last chance."
"You won't shoot," the man sneered. "You daren't shoot." And Sean fired, The muzzle was aimed over Comrade China's shoulder, but the barrel was pressed hard against his ear.
Comrade China screamed and clutched at his ear with both hands. A thin trickle of blood from his ruptured eardrum ran out between his fingers. "On your feet!" Sean said and still holding his damaged ear, Comrade China spat at him again. Sean laid the revolver barrel against his other ear. "After your ears, we will take out your eyes, with a sharp stick." Comrade China stood up.
At the double, move out." Job took over. He placed his hand between China's shoulder blades and sent him tottering down the riverbank.
Sean took one more look around the battlefield. it had been done swiftly and thoroughly, what the Scouts called "a good kill."
"All right, Matatu," Sean said softly. "Let's go home." And the little Ndorobo ran ahead of him.
When Comrade China faltered and his knees went rubbery and he collapsed from the agony of his burst eardrum, Sean gave him a subcutaneous shot of morphine from a disposable syringe and a drink from his water bottle.
"For a soldier of the revolution who shoots babies and chops the feet off old women, this is a stroll in the park," Sean told him.
Brace up, China, or I'll blow your other ear out." And he took one of China's elbows and Job the other. Between them they hoisted him to his feet and half carried him until the morphine had a chance to work, but they kept up the pace of the running column of Scouts through the forest and over the rolling rocky hills.
"You may have killed some of our people today." After a mile or so the morphine was working and China became loquacious.
"Today you have won a single little battle, Colonel Courtney, but tomorrow we will have won the war." China's voice was harsh with bitter self-righteousness.
"How do you know my name?" Sean asked with amusement.
"You are famous, Colonel, or should I say infamous. Under you, this pack of killer dogs is even more dangerous than when the murderous Ballantyne himself was leading it."
"Thank you for the pretty compliment, my old China, but aren't you claiming victory a little prematurely?"
"The side which controls the countryside by night wins the war.
"Mao Tse-tung." Sean smiled. "A most appropriate quotation for one of your kind."
"We control the Countryside at last, we have you bottled up in your villages and towns. Your white farmers are losing heart, their women are sick of war. The black peasants are openly sympathetic to our cause. Britain and the world are against you. Even South Africa, your only ally, is growing disenchanted with the struggle.
Soon, very soon..
They argued as they ran, and despite himself Sean could not suppress a grudging admiration for his prisoner. He was quick witted his command of English impressive and his grasp of politics and military tactics even more so. He was physically strong and fit.
Sean could feel the wiry muscle in his arm as he supported him, and few other men with a burst eardrum could have sustained the pace of the march.
"He would make a superb Scout," Sean thought. "If we could turn him" Many of his most valuable men were former guerrillas, captured and skillfully turned by Rhodesian intelligence.
So as they ran on he studied Comrade China with renewed interest. He was probably a few years younger than Sean. He had refined Nilotic features, more Ethiopian than Shana, a narrow high-bridged nose and chiseled lips rather than the broadly negroid. Even the morphine could not dim the intelligence of his large dark eyes. He was a handsome man, and of course he would be tough and utterly ruthless. He would not have reached his rank were he not.
"I want him," Sean decided. "My God, he would be worth another full regiment to us." And he tightened his grip on the man's arm, a proprietorial gesture. "This little darling is going to get the full treatment."
The vanguard ran into a Frelimo patrol in the middle of the morning and brushed them aside, hardly slackening their pace to do so. The corpses in their blotched Frelimo camouflage lay beside the track as they trotted past.
They came up with the troop convoy a little after midday. The trucks were guarded by Eland armored cars, and they had cans of ice-cold Castle beer in the cool boxes. The Scouts had covered forty-two miles in just over seven hours, and the beer tasted like nectar.
Sean gave a can to Comrade China. "Sorry about your ear," he told him, and saluted him with the beer can.
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