The Prime Minister's aide-de-camp had spelled Mark at the wheel of the Rolls on the long stretch northwards from Bloemfontein. Mark had been able to sleep, hunched up on the front seat, oblivious of the lurching and shaking over the bad stretches of road, so that he woke refreshed when Sean Courtney stopped the little convoy on a deserted hilltop fifteen miles south of the built-up complex of mines and towns of the Witwatersrand.
it was late afternoon and the lowering sun turned the banks of low false cloud in the north to a sombre purple hue. It was not cloud but the discharge from the hundreds of chimneys of the power stations and refineries, of the coal-burning locomotives and the open fires of tens of thousands of African labourers in their locations, and of burning buildings and vehicles.
Mark wrinkled his nose as he smelled the acrid taint of the city fouling the clean dry air of the highveld.
The entire party took the opportunity to stretch cramped muscles and to relieve other physical needs. Mark noted wryly that nice social distinctions were observed when those members of the party who had general officer's rank and Cabinet Minister's status used the screened side of the Puked cars, while the lesser members stood out in the open road.
While they went about their business, there was an argument in progress. Sean was advocating caution and a round-about approach through the suburbs and outlying areas of Johannesburg. We should cut across to Standerton and come in on the Natal road, the rebels are holding all the southern suburbs. They'll not be expecting us, old Sean. We'll go through fast and be at Marshall Square before they know what's happened, jannie Smuts decided. I can't afford the extra two hours it will take us to circle around. And Sean growled at him, You always were too damned hot-headed, Jannie. Good God, you were the one who rode into the Cape with a hundred and fifty men in your commando to capture Cape Town from the whole British army. Gave them the fright of their lives, the Prime Minister chuckled as he came around the back of the Rolls, buttoning his trousers, and Sean, following him, went on with relish, That's right, but when you tried the same tricks on Lettow von Vorbeck in German East Africa, you were the one who got the fright. He roasted your arse for you. Mark winced at Sean's choice of words, and the Prime Minister's party looked to heaven and earth, anywhere except at their master's suddenly unsmiling countenance. We are going into Johannesburg on the Booysens Road, said Jannie Smuts coldly.
You'll be no damned good to us dead, grumbled Sean. That's enough, old Sean. We'll do it my way. All right, Sean agreed lugubriously. But you'll ride in the second car. The Cadillac will lead with your pennant flying. He turned to the Prime Minister's driver, Flat out, you understand, stop for nothing. Yes, sir. Have you gentlemen got your music with you? he demanded, and all of them showed him the sidearms they carried. Mark, Sean turned to him. Get the Mannlicher off the roof. Mark unstrapped the leather case from the luggage rack and assembled the 9. 3 mm sporting rifle, the only effective weapon they had been able to find at short notice in Somerset House before leaving. He loaded the magazine and handed the weapon to Sean, then slipped two yellow packets of Eley Kynoch ammunition into his own pockets.
Good boy, Sean grunted, and peered at him closely. How are you feeling? Did you get some sleep? I'm fine, sir. Take the wheel. Darkness fell swiftly, smearing the silhouettes of the blue gum trees along the low crests of the rolling open ground, crowding in the circle of their vision.
There were the flickering pinpoints of open cooking fires from a few of the native shacks among the hills, but these were the only signs of life. The road was deserted, and even when they began to speed past the first brick- built buildings, there were no lights, and the stillness was unnatural and disquieting. The main power station has shut down. The coal-miners were limiting supply to fifty tons a day for essential services, but now they've stopped even that, the Prime Minister mused aloud, and neither of them answered him.
Mark followed the twinkling red rear-lights of the Cadillac, and the darkness pressed closer. He switched on the main beams of his headlights, and suddenly they were into the narrow streets of Booysens, the southernmost suburb of Johannesburg.
The miners cottages crowded the road like living and menacing presences. On the left, against the last faint glimmer of the day, Mark could make out the skeletal shape of the steel headgear at Crown Mines'main haulage, and ahead, the low table-like hillocks of the mine dumps gave him a nostalgic twinge.
He thought suddenly of Fergus MacDonald, and Helena, and glanced once again to his left, lifting his eyes from the road for a moment.
just beyond the Crown Deep headgear, not more than a mile away, was the cottage on Lover's Walk where she had taught him he was a man.
The memory was too wrapped around with pain and guilt, and he thrust it aside and turned his full attention back to the road just as the first rifle shots sparkled from the darkened cottage windows on the right side of the road ahead.
Instantly, he was judging the angle and field of the enemy fire, noticing how they had chosen the curve of the road where the vehicles must slow. Good, he thought dispassionately, applauding the choice, and he hit the gear lever of the Rolls, double declutching into a lower gear to build up revolutions for the turn.
Get down! he shouted at his illustrious passengers.
Ahead the Cadillac swerved wildly at the volley and then recovered, and went roaring into the turn. Six or seven rifles, Mark estimated, and then saw the high hedge and the open pavement below the cottage windows. He would give them a changing closing target, he decided, and used the power and rush of the Rolls to broadside up on to the pavement, under the cover of the hedge.
Foliage brushed with a light rushing whisper against the side of the roaring vehicle and behind him a service revolver hanged lustily as Sean Courtney fired through the open window.
Mark hit the brakes and fanned the back of the Rolls through the turn, bounded off the pavement and let her sway out across the road, to further confuse the riflemen in the cottages. Then he tramped down hard on the accelerator, guided her through the turn and went howling down into the dark deserted commercial area of Booysens, leaving the stupefied riflemen staring into the deserted bend, and listening to the receding note of the Rolls-Royce engine.
Only two miles and they would be through the danger area, over the ridge and into Johannesburg proper.
Ahead of him, the Cadillac was running through the area of shops and warehouses and small factories, its headlights blazing harshly on the buildings that lined the road, carving a tunnel of light down their avenue to safety.
in the back seat of the Rolls, the two Generals had not taken Mark's advice to seek cover, and were both sitting bolt upright, discussing the situation objectively in cool measured tones. That was quick thinking, Smuts said. They weren't expecting that turn. He's a good lad, Sean agreed. But you are wasting your time with that pistol. Gives me something to do, Sean explained, as he reloaded the chambers of his revolver. You should have ridden with my commando, old Sean, I would have taught you to save ammunition. Smuts sought revenge for Sean's earlier remarks.
