'Now, you JL hold together a little longer,' he told it firmly, gave the an affectionate pat and took the wheel-wrench away frc Comrade Lookout who had already cross, threaded two the nuts on the rear wheel of the truck.
An hour later Tungata came striding up to where Craig and his gang were lowering the truck's body onto its cannibalized rear axle. Craig was black to the elbows with thick grease. Sarah hurried to keep up with Tungata. Next to him she seemed slim and girlish, despite the rifle she carried.
'No fuel,'Tungata said. 'We've searched the camp.'
'I reckon we have fifteen lit res Craig straightened up and wiped the sweat off his face with his shirt-sleeve. It left a smear of grease down his cheek. 'That might take us twenty miles. If we are lucky.' He checked his watch. 'Three o'clock where did the time go? Sally-Anne will be overhead in just over two hours. We aren't going to make it-'
'Craig, Sarah has told me what you have done, the risks, the planning, all of it-'Tungata said quietly.
'We haven't got time for that now, Sam.'
'No,' he agreed. 'I must speak to my people, then we can go.' The prisoners who had survived the slaughter on the parade ground gathered around him as Tungata stood on the bonnet of the truck. Their faces were upturned towards him, lit by the harsh glare of the floodlights.
'I must leave you,' Tungata told them, and they groaned, 'but my spirit stays with you, it remains with you until the day that I return.
And I swear to you on the beard of my father and by the milk that I drank from my mother's breast, that I shall return to you.'
'Babo!' they called to hint 'You are our father.'
'The Shana kanka will be here very soon. You must go into the bush, carry with you all weapons and food you can find and go with these men.' Tungata pointed to the little group of guerrillas around Comrade Lookout. 'They will lead you to a safe place, and you will wait until I return in strength to lead you to what is rightfully yours.' Tungata.
held his arms extended in blessing. 'Go in peace, my friends!' They reached up to touch him, some of them weeping like children. Then, in little groups, they began to drift away towards the gate of the compound and the darkness beyond.
Comrade Lookout was the last to go. He came to Craig and smiled that cold white wolfish smile.
'Though you were in the forefront of the fighting, you did not kill a single Shana not here nor at the bridge,' he said. 'Why is that, Kuphela?'
41 leave the killing to you,' Craig told him. 'You are better at it than I am.'
'You are a strange man, oh writer of books but we are grateful to you. If I live that long I will boast to my grandchildren of the things we did together this day.'
'Goodbye, my friend,' said Craig, and held out his hand and when they shook hands it was with the double grip of palm and wrist and palm, a salute of deep significance.
Then Comrade Lookout turned and loped away, carrying his rifle at the trail and the night swallowed him. The three of them, Craig, Tungata and Sarah, stood by the cab of the truck and the loneliness held them mute.
Craig spoke first. 'Sam, you heard the radio operator speaking to his headquarters. You know that Fungabera will have already sent in reinforcements. Are there any troopers between here and Harare?' (I do not think so,' Tungata shook his head. 'A few men at Karoi, but not a large enough force to respond to an attack like this.'
'All right let's say that it took them an hour to assemble and despatch a force. It will take them another five hours to reach Tuti-' he looked at Tungata for confirmation, and he nodded.
'They will hit the mission at approximately six and Sally-Anne should be overhead at five. It will be close, especially if we have to make the last few miles on foot let's get moving.' While the others climbed up into the cab, Craig took a last look around the devastated compound. The flames had died down, but smoke drifted over the deserted hutments and across the parade ground where the dead men lay. The scene was still brightly lit by the floodlights.
'The lights-' Craig said aloud. There was something about the lights that worried him. The generator? Yes, that was it something about the generator that he must think Of.
'That's it! he whispered aloud, and jumped up into the cab. 'Sam, the generator-' He started the motor, and put the truck into a roaring Turn. The engine room was at the back of the hill, part of the central complex protected by sandbags and by the fortifications on the high ground above it. Craig parked the truck close to the steps that led down into the power house, and he ran down and burst into it.
The generator was a twenty-five-kilowatt Lister, a big squat green machine, and its fuel tank was bolted on steel brackets to the wall above it. Craig tapped the side of the tank and it gave back a reassuring dull tone.
run!' Craig breathed. 'Forty glorious gallons, at least! he road twisted likea dying python and the truck, her fuel-tank humming, was unwieldy and stiff on the turns. 4Craig had to wrench the wheel into them with both arms. The up hills were steep and the speed bled away to a walking pace as Craig changed down through the gears. Then they roared down the far side, too fast for safety, the empty truck bouncing them about unmercifully as they hit the deep ruts.
Craig almost missed the causeway at the bridge, and they lurched out over the drop with the edge crumbling away under the big double back wheels before he swerved back and they went lumbering over the narrow timber bridge.
'Time?' he asked, and Sarah checked her watch in the dashboard lights.
'Four fifty-three.' Craig glanced away from the bright tunnel of the headlights and for the first time he could see the silhouette of the tree-tops against the lightening sky. At the top of the slope he pulled into the verge and switched on the radio set. He searched the channels slowly, listening for military traffic, but there was only the buzz of static.
'If they are in range, they are keeping mum.' He switched off the set and pulled out into the track again, mary el ling at the swiftness of the African dawn. Below them in the valley, the landscape was emerging out of the fleeing night, the great, dark, forested plain leading from the foot of the hills down to the mission station stretched below them.
'Ten miles,' said Tungata.
'Another half an hour,' Craig replied and sent the Toyota bellowing down the last hills. Before they reached the bottom, it was light enough for him to switch off the headlights. 'No point drawing attention to ourselves.' Suddenly he sat up straighter, alarmed by the change in the engine note of the truck; it was harsher and louder.
'Oh God, not that, not now,' he whispered, and then realized that he was hearing the sound not of the Toyota, but of another motor outside the cab. It was growing louder, closer, more compelling. He rolled down the side window and stuck his head out into the cool rush of the wind.
Sally-Anne's Cessna was roaring down from behind them, only fifty feet above the road, sparkling blue and silver in the first rays of the sun.
Craig let out a whoop of joy and waved wildly.
Swiftly the Cessna overhauled them and drew level.
Sally-Anne's beloved face looked down at him from the cockpit. She had a pink scarf around her head, and those thick dark eyebrows framed her eyes. She was laughing, as she recognized Craig, and she waved and mouthed at him, 'Go for id' Then she was roaring past, climbing, waggling the wings of the Cessna from side to side, heading for the airstrip.
They burst out of the forest, racing through the maize fields that surrounded the tiny mission village. The tin roofs of the church and the schoolhouse glittered in the sunrise. From the huts beside the road, a few sleepy villagers, yawning and scratching, came out to watch them pass through.
Craig slowed the truck, and Sarah shouted through the window, 'Soldiers coming! Big trouble! Warn everybody!
Go into the bush! Hide!' Craig had not thought that far ahead. The retaliation of the Third Brigade on the local population would be horrific. He accelerated through the village and the airstrip was a kilometer ai head the tattered windsock undulating on its pole at the far end. The Cessna was circling low overhead. Craig saw Sally-Anne lower her undercarriage and start her turn onto final approach for the landing.
'Look!' said Tungata harshly, and another aircraft came roaring in, from their 1it-hand side, low and fast, another much larger, twin-$ngined machine. Craig recognized it immediately.
It was an old Dakota transport, a veteran of the desert war in north Africa, and the bush war in Rhodesia. It was sprayed with non-reflective anti-missile grey paint and it was now decorated with the Zimbabwe Air Force round els The main hatch just abaft the wing root was open, and there were men poised in the opening. They were dressed in camouflage jump smocks and helmets. The bulky bundles of their parachutes dangled below their buttocks. Two of them were in the hatchway, but others crowded up close behind them.
'Paras!' shouted Craig, and the Dakota banked steeply towards them and passed them so low that the blast from the propellers churned the tops of the standing maize in the field beside them. As the aircraft flashed past them, Craig and Tungata simultaneously recognized one of the men in the hatchway.
'Fungabera!' Tungata snapped. 'It's him! As he said it, Tungata
