Manfred heard the metallic squeal of brakes, and he relaxed slightly. The driver was acting reflexively, it would not be necessary to blow out the tracks. The second flare ignited, shooting out long tongues of red flame from under the driving wheels, but by now the locomotive was pulling up sharply, brakes grinding metal on metal and steam flying from the emergency vacuum tubes in screaming white jets.
While it was still moving, Manfred leapt onto the footplates, and thrust the Luger into the astonished faces of the driver and his fireman.
Shut her down! Switch off the headlight! he yelled through his mask. Then get down from the cab! With the brakes locked, the railwaymen scrambled down and lifted their hands high. They were immediately searched and trussed up. Manfred ran back down the train, and by the time he reached the explosives trucks, Roelfs men had already forced the doors and the wooden cases of gelignite were being handed along a human chain to be loaded into the first lorry.
What about the guard at the rear of the train? Manfred asked.
We have got him tied up, Roelf answered, and Manfred ran back to the head of the train. Swiftly he defused and lifted the explosive charges he had laid, delighted that it had not been necessary to fire them. By the time he got back, the first lorry was fully loaded with cases of explosives.
Take her away! Roelf yelled, and one of his men climbed into the cab, started the engine and with lights extinguished, drove it away.
The second vehicle reversed up to the explosives trucks and they began to load it.
Manfred checked his watch. Twelve minutes, he muttered. They were ahead of schedule.
The driver, the guard and the fireman were tied securely and locked in the guard's van while the loading of explosives went on smoothly and swiftly.
All finished, Roelf shouted. We can't load any more. 'Forty-eight minutes, Manfred told him. Well done. All right, move out everybody! Manfred ordered. What about you? I'll look after myself. He watched the Bedford truck pull away and waited until it reached the farm road and switched on its headlights. The sound of its engine dwindled. He was alone. If Roelf or the others had known what he intended to do now, they might have baulked and tried to prevent it.
Manfred climbed into the open door of the explosives truck. it was half filled with the white wooden cases. They had only been able to carry away a part of the load, while the second truck had not been touched. There were still at least twenty-five tons of explosive remaining on board.
He set the timing device with a delay of fifteen minutes and placed it in the gap between the stacked cases and the steel side of the truck, pushing it far back where it could not be readily seen. Then he jumped down to the ground and ran forward to the locomotive. None of the three men locked in the caboose of the guard's van were members of the Ossewa Brandwag. Left alive they would be certain to give damaging evidence to the police. He felt little pity for them. They were casualties of war.
He climbed into the cab of the locomotive and disengaged the wheel brakes; then he opened the throttle gradually.
The wheels spun, then found purchase and the train jolted forward with the couplings clanking. It began to pull away jerkily up the slope.
Manfred eased the throttle open to the halfway notch and locked it there. Then he jumped down to the ground, and watched the trucks rumble past where he stood. They were gaining speed gradually. When the caboose passed, he walked back down the tracks to the clump of thorn trees, and sat astride the seat of the motorcycle.
He waited impatiently, glancing at his watch every few minutes.
The explosion, when at last it came, was a brief orange flare, like sheet lightning over the northern horizon, followed after a long pause by the puff of the shock-wave against his face and a sound like distant surf breaking on a rocky shore.
Manfred kick-started the motorcycle and drove southwards into the night.
It was a good beginning, he thought, but there was so much still to do.
Blaine looked up as Shasa entered his office and hesitated in the doorway. He was neatly dressed in airforce uniform, medal ribbons on his chest, DFC and Africa Star, and the badges of rank on his shoulders.
Morning, Shasa,Blaine nodded bleakly. Ten o'clock. May I offer you a whisky? Shasa winced. I came to apologize for my behaviour the other day, sir. It was inexcusable. Sit down. Blaine pointed at the buttoned leather armchair against the bookcase. We all act like blathering idiots at some time in our lives. The trick is to know when you are doing it. Apology accepted. Shasa sat down and crossed his legs, then uncrossed them.
You mentioned a job, sir? Blaine nodded and stood up. He moved to the window and stood staring down into the gardens. An old woman was feeding the pigeons from a paper bag. He watched her as he made his final decision. Was he letting his concern for Centaine Courtney and her son cloud his sense of duty? What he had in mind was critical to the welfare of the state.
Was Shasa too young and inexperienced for the task? he wondered. But he had gone over this many times already, and he turned back to his desk.
He picked up a plain uninarked black folder. This is highly classified, he said as he weighed the folder in his right hand. A most secret and sensitive report and appreciation. He handed it to Shasa. It is not to leave this office.
Read it here. I have a meeting with Field Marshal Smuts. He Pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his watch. I will be back in an hour. We'll talk again then. He was longer than an hour, and when he returned Shasa was still reading. He looked up at Blaine from the armchair with the open folder in his hands, and his expression was troubled and grave.
What do you make of it? Blaine asked.
Of course, I have heard of the O B, Shasa replied. But I had no idea it was anything like this. It's a secret army, sir, right in our midst. If it were ever to be fully mobilized against us, he shook his head, trying to find the words.
A revolution, a civil war, while most of our own fighting men are up north. They have begun to move, Blaine
