Recoil (17 page)

5

We weaved our way through the chaos on the strip. The forty or so bags of fertilizer had been stacked haphazardly at one end of a long line of diesel drums. A guy cranked a hand pump on the closest one to decant fuel into lime-green and yellow jerry-cans his mate was lining up for him. They were the same ones I’d seen hanging on the huts.

I screwed up my eyes against the sun. I could feel it burning straight through my sweatshirt, on to my shoulders and the back of my neck. I felt like I had a searchlight pointed straight into my eyes.

Crucial had joined us and got himself a bit of shade under a big cardboard box of Prudence he was balancing on his head.

‘See.’ Sam jerked a thumb at the box and smiled. ‘They even give protection from UVA.’

There was a buzz of excitement up ahead.

A couple of hundred metres away, a crowd of twenty-odd guys clamoured round the tables in the shade of a tree next to the old tents. One looked a sergeant-major type – they’re all the same, no matter which army; every soldier in the world can smell one heading their way at a hundred paces. This guy wielded a long skinny stick as he hollered and shouted to get everyone in line. Nobody seemed to care. It was pay day, after all.

Sam had other things on his mind. ‘Nick, we have a problem and we want your help.’

Crucial was in on the act too. ‘It’s to do with Standish, the LRA, the kids they use and . . .’ He paused. I looked up to see the two other white guys striding purposefully towards us, clearly intending to head us off at the pass. ‘And those two Rhodesian deadwoods.’

With their bergens, weapons, US jungle boots and full belt kit, they looked like they’d walked straight out of the seventies bush war. Their olive-green shorts were tight and high, their thighs so chunky they rubbed together.

They were both late forties, early fifties, with wide faces that needed a shave and cropped hair that needed a wash. Maybe the heat was too much for them, or maybe they just hated everything they saw; their big, brown, deep-set eyes broadcast anger. Then again, perhaps they were hungry. They looked like the only things on four legs they hadn’t eaten were tables.

They stopped in front of us and glared at Sam. The one on the right jerked his head at me. ‘Who’s he?’

Their faces had been well chewed after years in the bush, and their accents were strongly white African.

‘This is Nick.’

Their eyes didn’t shift from Sam. It was as if Crucial and I weren’t there.

I said, ‘Hello,’ but didn’t offer my hand. I knew it wouldn’t be shaken.

Still they ignored me. ‘Nobody asked us about having a new man.’

The statement was barked. Everything about them was aggressive. Even their nightmares were probably afraid of them. I could hear Crucial breathing heavily as he tried to keep his cool.

‘He’s not.’ I wanted to fuck off out of the sun, but Sam was sweetness itself. ‘I’m taking him in to link up with the Mercy Flight people in Nuka.’

They stared at him. ‘Are we a fucking charity now, man?’ Without waiting for an answer, they turned and walked away.

We did the same. ‘They live in Erinvale as well, do they?’ I asked.

‘Aye.’

‘You lot must have some great nights out in the False Bay.’

He laughed and patted Crucial on the back. ‘It’s OK. Don’t let them get to you.’ He turned to me. ‘You’ve just had the pleasure of being introduced to Mr Bateman and Mr Tooley.’

‘Which one’s which?’

‘Blessed if I know.’ Sam gave me a huge grin. ‘Only their mothers can tell them apart.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And if you ask me, their mothers have got a fair amount to answer for. Things have been getting a bit out of control with them lately.’

Crucial grunted. ‘Nothing a couple of rounds of 7.62 couldn’t sort out.’

Sam gave him another slap on the back. ‘You know that’s not the way. Getting Nick to help is.’

I squinted from one to the other, trying to work out where the fuck this was leading.

Crucial bared his teeth and the sun glinted on the two rocks. ‘Kony says he’s fighting for God – but how? By letting children die in his name? Some of those kids are so young they can’t even lift a weapon, let alone fire it. I know, Nick, remember?’

I wasn’t about to forget. I cut away, and made myself focus on the one thing that mattered to me – moving out on patrol and getting the fuck across to Nuka.

‘God’s work . . . How does he get away with it?’ Sam muttered. ‘If the kids try to escape, the others are forced to kill them. If they don’t, it’s not long before they’re killed themselves.’ Sam was really sparking up: missionaries were his new best mates when he compared them to these guys.

‘Why doesn’t somebody just go and slot this Kony fucker?’

Sam shook his head. ‘Would be good, but it’d be easier finding Bin Laden.’

They looked across at each other. They
had
thought of doing it: that was why they knew how hard it would be.

‘Even the guys who could get to him won’t kill him,’ Crucial said. ‘
Kindoki
still rules round here – you know, man, witchcraft – and Kony has everybody thinking he’s the main
nganga
man . . .’

‘
Nganga
man? My Congolese is a bit rusty these days.’

‘Witch-doctor, Nick. Nobody’s going to go up against that, even if they wanted to. And, you know, when people don’t trust their government or anything they get from the media, the only thing they do believe is word of mouth from people they know. And if that someone is convinced Kony can see in the dark and knows exactly where your children are, then so are you.’

It made a whole lot of deeply scary sense. ‘Yeah, nightmare. But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me about Standish, and what he’s got to do with your problem.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Sam shrugged his shoulders like a Frenchman. ‘I didn’t want to tell you in case you didn’t come. Then when you said it wasn’t a job, well . . . I’m sorry.’ He stopped in his tracks and grabbed my arm.

Crucial rallied round too, taking off his gigs and staring into my eyes. ‘Please, hear us out, Nick. It’s all connected.’

Sam didn’t need to gather his thoughts. He’d obviously been thinking plenty about what he wanted to say. ‘It’s like this. Once we’ve defeated the LRA at the mine, the plan is to move north. We’re going to hit them again and again, and take control of the mines they’ve hijacked. We need more bayonets for that, but Standish and the terrible twins want to use the kids to fight our way into the mines.’

I could guess what was coming.

‘We want you to help us stop him.’

Sam wasn’t taking any chances. He kept the pitch rolling. ‘Look, we want to take the mines too, no problem with that – it makes the whole area safer and it means we can build more orphanages, maybe one at every mine head. But they want us to do the recruiting because the kids trust us.’

‘Why not just fuck him off?’

‘We’ve tried, but you know what he’s like once he’s set his mind on something . . .’

‘Why doesn’t he use the porters? He seems to have them coming out of his ears.’

‘He needs them to carry the ore,’ Crucial said. ‘The kids are . . . expendable . . .’ His eyes stared deep into mine, and I knew that expression only too well. ‘You with us?’

This wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t just the guilt thing. Two opposing factions on the same job normally meant only one lot made it home. And right now I was more concerned about what obstacles Standish and his invisible man might throw in our way once I’d got Silky and the surveyors back to the strip. This suddenly had all the hallmarks of a weapons-grade gangfuck.

‘Where does Lex fit in?’

‘He doesn’t. He’s his own man, not part of the team. He doesn’t care one way or the other, as long as Standish buys weapons off him and he’s paid to fly the rocks to Kenya.’

I looked from one to the other. ‘I’m sorry. Can we take this one step at a time? My real concern at the moment is Silky.’

They hid their disappointment as we headed for the table, but I knew that that wasn’t going to be the last of it. Crucial started shouting and reorganizing what the sergeant-major already had in hand. The pay parade began. Each of the men came up to where Sam had settled himself with the open suitcase in front of him, saluted and stated his name. Many wore the same wooden crucifix as Crucial.

No one in the queue had a weapon. It was probably an SOP to keep the suitcase safe from temptation. Crucial didn’t seem to travel anywhere without his.

The salutes were terrible, like nine-year-olds in the Boys’ Brigade. I stood by Crucial as he checked each name off against a list, then got the guy to press his finger on to an ink pad and make his mark. His reward was two hundred dollars’ worth of Rwandan wonga and a party-sized pack of Prudence condoms. I knew it was wishful thinking. After a night out in the shanty they’d probably shove them over their heads, blow them up and pretend to be spacemen. After a couple more salutes, the sergeant-major pointed them into the tent immediately next to us and they came out clutching a bottle of Cutty Sark. No need for any ghat.

I leaned over Crucial’s shoulder. ‘Fuck me, where do I sign up?’

He didn’t think it was that funny. ‘This dop culture . . .’ He grimaced. ‘Before they worked for us, these guys used to be paid with drink for working in the fields. They’re alcohol dependent, and we have to provide or they don’t operate.’

What the fuck did I care about dop? ‘Listen, Crucial, I couldn’t hold you. You just slipped out of my hands, I tried but—’

He handed out more Prudence. ‘I know, man. I saw it in your eyes. I have no anger with you. Never had.’

I tightened my grip on his shoulder. He seemed to get the message.

‘I know what you’ve been feeling, Nick. I have too. You know, the downside of having God in your life is that He makes you think of others rather than yourself. I knew that you would have spent these years with that picture in your head. I know I have. I’ve thought about you many times and felt guilty myself for being responsible for your guilt.’ He turned and gave me a diamond smile. ‘So now we are both happy. No more guilt. We can wipe our mouths, clear out the bad taste, and move on, yes?’

I only stayed another five minutes. I had said what I needed to and was feeling even better for it than I’d thought I would. Besides, there were only so many times I could watch Sam salute and say, ‘God bless,’ before they helped themselves to the shagging and drinking kit.

I tapped him on the back. ‘I’ll see you back at the tents, mate.’

Sam kept counting out wonga. ‘Take anything you need – apart from the stuff on the bed. Unless you want my Bible – you’re always welcome to that.’

6

I left the shade and wandered back across the carpet of orange-red dust.

Three white faces were sitting under the cam net beneath the trees. Standish was at the head of the table, the terrible twins either side of him. They were all huddled over plates and mugs. Just beyond the tents, the small Indian guy stood in a cloud of smoke, fanning like crazy over a split oil drum welded to a frame of old steel cross-sections. The
brai
was sizzling big-time.

The table sitters broke off their conversation and sat back when they saw me approach. Standish broke the ice as I ducked under the net. ‘Here he is! We were just talking about you.’

He sounded quite different from the way he’d been earlier. Guys like him normally do once they get what they’re after. I nodded at Tooley and Bateman. With any luck, I wouldn’t have to be around long enough to worry about which of them was which.

‘These two gentlemen didn’t know you were coming. I wasn’t sure myself until Sam called last night, by which time they were on the move and in the middle of a contact, so . . . Anyway, we’re glad of your help while we sort out our little local difficulties.’

I nodded and grinned as if I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do right now.

Standish did the introductions and motioned me to sit.

Bateman was the one who’d done the talking on the strip, and he was the first to open his mouth now. ‘We thought you were another of Sam’s fucking prayer-time guys.’ They exchanged a look.

I smiled. ‘I just wanted a lift, that’s all. I know him – and Miles here – from the Regiment.’

That got a nod of approval. ‘We were both RLI during the war,’ Bateman said. ‘There until the last day, man.’

I returned the nod, hoping they wouldn’t see it as a signal to start a soldier love-in and bore me shitless.

The Rhodesian Light Infantry had been good soldiers, but they were steadfastly racist. South Africans, Brits, Irish, Americans, Norwegians – they were all welcome as long as they were the right shade of white. I hadn’t known about that stuff at the time. It had sounded so glamorous and exciting to me as an eighteen-year-old squaddie in the Green Jackets that I’d nearly joined up myself. I was hating Tidworth garrison life and grabbed the brochure I was handed in a bar with the kind of enthusiasm Sam greeted the New Testament. It showed guys in camouflage crossing a river in glowing Technicolor, with an elephant and plenty of jungle in the background to complete the fantasy. To a new boy recruit, who’d been lumbered with carrying the section’s GPMG, it was like an invitation to the world’s biggest adventure playground.