The Spoilers / Juggernaut (59 page)

In the raw small hours we assembled at the pontoon, keeping our torches hooded and trying to keep quiet as we crossed the scrubby clearing. We couldn’t leave totally unobserved but this was a practice run for later on, when keeping quiet would be vital.

Overnight Hammond had had the boat baled out and the outboard tested and found to run as sweetly as any outboard does, which is to say fitfully and with the occasional lurch and stutter to give you a nervous leap of the pulse. There was ample fuel, a small fluke anchor and a rond anchor for digging into an earth bank if necessary, some water canteens and a couple of long coils of line.

We had found oars for the dinghy but only one rowlock so someone had cobbled up another out of a piece of scrap iron bent to shape in the lathe; this and its more shapely companion were wrapped in cloth to minimize noise. The best we could do for balers were old beer cans with the tops cut out.

The five of us made a pretty tight fit. Hammond and McGrath took the centre thwart to row us out, we’d only start the engine well away from shore, I as the lightest sat forward, and Zimmerman and Sadiq crowded onto the after thwart. It was going to be no pleasure jaunt.

‘What about crocodiles?’ Hammond asked.

Zimmerman, who’d had years in Africa, snorted. ‘Not a chance, Ben. They like shoaling water and they’ll be sluggish before dawn anyway. Lazy brutes. Why bother with a boat when the bank’s swarming with breakfast?’

Sadiq said gravely, ‘Mister Hammond, we need not fear the crocodiles. They seldom attack boats with an engine.’

McGrath said, grinning, ‘No, it’s the hippos we have to think about,’ giving Hammond another direction in which to cast his fears. I told him to lay off. What I didn’t say was that, being no sailor even of the Sunday-in-the-park variety, I had a strong conviction that this frail craft was likely to tip us out and drown us at any moment. When we pushed off and the chill water lapped at the gunwales I was certain of it.

We didn’t sink, of course, but we did get pretty wet about the feet and the face. After some time Hammond suggested that we start the outboard. This was achieved with only a few curses and false alarms. The little boat rocked wildly before the motor settled down to a welcome steady purr and we began to pick up some pace. We hugged the shoreline though not too close for fear of reed beds, and the light was beginning to allow us to distinguish details.

We were travelling with the current and so moved along swiftly. Hammond had calculated that we should arrive within sight of the ferry at about five o’clock, an hour before dawn. We would shut off the engine and slip along under oars until we could see the ferry point, then pull back upriver to find a concealed landing place. From there we’d reconnoitre on land.

‘What happens if the ferry’s on the far shore?’ Zimmerman asked.

‘We can cross in this thing and collect it. No sweat,’ Hammond said. ‘Come right a little, Mick.’

‘What about the ferry people?’ I said. ‘They aren’t simply going to lend us their craft, are they?’

‘No, more likely they’ll run it for us themselves, at a price.’

I’d been wondering who was going to handle the ferry. There would be a lot of local knowledge involved apart from familiarity with the craft itself. I said, ‘Good thinking. Once we’ve taken the ferry point here we send a delegation and get the ferry back in business—just for us.’

‘Well, it might work,’ said McGrath dubiously. His form of payment would probably be a gun at the pilot’s belly.

‘First let’s take the ferry,’ I said. Perhaps it would be held by about five men whom we could capture or rout with a minimum of fuss, but I doubted that it would be that easy.

There was no further talk as we cruised steadily on until we saw the shapes of man-made buildings along the bank. We had arrived, and it still lacked half an hour to dawn.

‘There it is,’ I whispered, pointing. Instantly Zimmerman cut the engine and we used the oars to hold us stemming the tide. Shapes were emerging but confusingly, all detail obscured. There was a huge dark shape in the water a hundred yards offshore that we couldn’t identify as yet. An island, perhaps? Hammond and McGrath back watered to keep us upstream while we scanned the shore anxiously for movement.

As all dawns do in central Africa, this one came in minutes. The air became grey and hazy, a shaft of early sunlight sprang out across the water and it was as if a veil had been lifted. Several voices whispered together.

‘It’s the ferry!’

She was anchored offshore, bobbing gently, a marvellous and welcome sight. She was big. Visions of a hand-poled pontoon, one-car sized and driven by chanting ferrymen, not at all an uncommon sight in Africa, receded thankfully from my mind. Kironji had said it took trucks, and trucks he meant. This thing would take several vehicles at one crossing.
And there was something else about her profile in the watery light which nagged at me: a long low silhouette, bow doors slanted inwards to the waterline and a lumpy deck structure aft. She was a far cry from the sleek and sophisticated modern ferries of Europe.

We slid out from under the shadow of her bow and made rapidly for shore. Hammond rowed us out of sight of the ferry point and tucked into the bank in as secretive a spot as we could find, setting both anchors. We disembarked into the fringe of vegetation.

I looked to McGrath. He and Sadiq were the experts now, and I wasn’t sure which of the two was going to take command. But there wasn’t any doubt really; with assurance Sadiq started giving instructions, and McGrath took it with equanimity. I think he’d approved of Sadiq as a fighting man and was prepared to take his orders.

‘Mister Mannix, you and Mister Zimmerman come with me, please,’ Sadiq said. ‘Mister McGrath will take Mister Hammond. We are going towards the buildings. We three will take the further side, Mister McGrath the nearer. Nobody is to make any disturbance or touch anything. Observe closely. We must know how many men and officers are here, and what weapons they have. Where they keep the radio and telephone. What transport they have. The layout of the terrain. Whether there are people on the ferry, and what other boats there are.’

I whistled silently. It was a tall order. All he wanted to know was absolutely everything.

‘If you are caught,’ he went on, ‘make as much outcry as you can, to alarm the others. But try not to reveal that they exist. If the opportunity arises for you to steal weapons do so, but do not use them.’

He looked intently at McGrath who showed no reaction but that of careful attention. Sadiq said, ‘I think that is all. Good luck, gentlemen.’

The astounding thing was that it worked exactly as he planned it. In my imagination I had seen a hundred things going drastically wrong: ourselves captured, tortured, shot, the site overrun with soldiers armed to the teeth, the ferry incapacitated or nonexistent…every obstacle under the sun placed between us and success. In fact it was all extremely easy and may well have been the most fruitful reconnaissance mission in the annals of warfare.

This was because there were so few men there. Our team made a count of fifteen, McGrath said seventeen, and the highest-ranking soldier we could spot was a corporal. They had rifles and one light machine-gun but no other weapons that we could see. There was a radio equipped with headphones and another in one of the cars, but it was defunct; Hammond reported having seen its guts strewn about the passenger seat. There were two trucks, one with a shattered windscreen, a Suzuki four-wheel drive workhorse and a beat-up elderly Volvo.

This was a token detachment, set there to guard something that nobody thought to be of the least importance. After all, nobody from Manzu was going to come willingly into a neighbouring battle zone, especially when the craft to bring them was on the wrong side of the water.

The two teams met an hour and a half later back at the dinghy and compared notes. We were extremely pleased with ourselves, having covered all Sadiq’s requirements, and heady with relief at having got away with it. Perhaps only McGrath was a little deflated at the ease of the mission.

I would have liked another look at that ferry but anchored as she was out in midstream there was no way we could approach her unseen. Whatever it was about her that bothered me would have to wait.

We did some energetic baling with the beer cans and set off upriver, again keeping close to the bank and using oars until
we were out of earshot of the ferry point. It was harder work rowing upstream, but once the outboard was persuaded to run we made good time. It was midday when we got back.

We reported briefly on our findings which cheered everyone enormously. We had discovered that the landing point was called Kanjali, although the joke of trying to call it the Fort Pirie Ferry, a genuine tongue twister, had not yet palled. But we didn’t know if the ferry itself was in good running order. It might have been sabotaged or put out of action officially as a safeguard. And the problem of who was to run it was crucial.

After a light meal we went to see the raft builders at work.

Dufour had a dry, authoritative manner which compensated for his lack of Nyalan, which was supplemented by Atheridge. With Sadiq’s men as interpreters they had rounded up a number of Nyalans who were willing to help in return for a ride to Manzu, and some who didn’t want even that form of payment. These people were free in a sense we could hardly understand, free to melt back into the bush country they knew, to go back to their villages where they were left to get along unassisted by government programmes, but also untrammelled by red tape and regulations. But the rig had come to mean something extra to them, and because of it they chose to help us. It was as simple as that.

One of our problems was how to fasten the outer ring of ‘B’-gons together. We’d not got anywhere with this until Hammond gave us the solution.

‘You’d think we could come up with something,’ he said, ‘with all the friends we’ve got here pulling for us.’

‘Friends,’ I murmured. ‘Polonius.’

‘What?’

‘I was just thinking about a quote from Hamlet. Polonius was giving Laertes advice about friendship.’ I felt rather
pleased with myself; it wasn’t only the British who could play literary games. ‘He said, “Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.” I could do with some hoops of steel right now.’

Hammond said, ‘Would mild steel do?’

‘You mean you’ve got some?’ I asked incredulously.

He pointed to an empty drum. ‘Cut as many hoops as you like from one of these things.’

‘By God, so we can! Well done, Ben. Is there a cutting nozzle with the oxyacetylene outfit?’

‘Hold on, Neil,’ he said. ‘Those drums will be full of petrol vapour. You put a flame near one and it’ll explode. We have to do it another way.’

‘Then we need a can opener.’

‘You’ll have one,’ he promised.

Hammond’s idea of a can opener was interesting. If you can’t invent the necessary technology then you fall back on muscle. Within an hour he had twenty Nyalan men hammering hell out of the empty drums, using whatever they could find in the way of tools, old chisels, hacksaw blades, sharp-edged stones. They made the devil of a row but they flayed the drums open, cutting them literally into ribbons.

At the ‘A’-gon construction site Dufour had assembled four teams and it took each team about one hour to make one ‘A’-gon. In a factory it would have been quicker, but here the work force chatted and sang its way through the allotted tasks at a pace not exactly leisurely but certainly undemanding. Dufour knew better than to turn martinet and try to hurry them.

In some of the old school textbooks there were problems such as this; if it takes one man six hours to dig a pit seven feet long by six feet deep by two feet wide, then how long will it take three men to perform the same task? The textbook answer is two hours, which is dead wrong. Those who have done the dismal job know that it’s a one-man operation
because two men get in each other’s way and three men can hardly work at all.

Dufour, knowing this, had seen to it that nobody could get in each other’s way and not one motion was wasted. For an inexperienced work force it was miraculous, any efficiency expert would have been proud of it. Altogether it was a remarkable operation.

It started at the sawmill where a team cut timber into precise measurements, and the wood was hauled down to the shore. Sufficient pieces were doled out to the construction groups, each one a fair way from the next along the shore. Each team consisted of one Wyvern man, three Nyalan men and a few women, including even those with babies on their backs or toddlers at their sides.

The four men would each lay a beam on the ground, setting them between pegs driven into the sand so that they would be in exactly the right place. Meantime another force was rolling empty, tight-bunged drums along the shore from the compound and stacking them at each site, seven at a time. The four men would stand the drums on the crossbeams inside the circle of vertical stakes which formed the primitive jig. Little pegs were being whittled by some of the elderly folk, and these went into holes drilled in the ends of each crossbeam. The sidebeams would then be dropped to stand at right angles to the bases, the pegs slotting into holes drilled close to the bottom. Another set of pegs at the top of each side beam held the top cross-members in position, and halfway up yet another set of horizontal struts completed the cage.

At this stage the ‘A’-gon was held together only by the pegs and the jig in which it rested. Now the women bound it all together with cordage. This was the longest part of the operation so the men would move to a second jig.

Once the ‘A’-gon was finished a strong-arm team would heave it out of the jig. It was here that the binding sometimes
failed and had to be redone. They would dump it on a rubber car mat and drag it the short distance to the water to be floated off. Then the whole process started again. The guy called Taylor who pioneered the science of time and motion study would have approved.

In the water a bunch of teenagers, treating the whole thing as a glorious water carnival, floated the ‘A’-gons to the ‘B’-gon construction site. Four teams took about an hour to make enough basic components for one ‘B’-gon. I reckoned that we’d have both ‘B’-gons, plus a few spare ‘A’-gons, finished before nightfall.