Nconganwe said anything good about the Zulu.
They had slept that night in a hide about five kilometers from the bridge. Before sleeping, Nconganwe and Jeff had talked, first about the struggle in South Africa, then about America’s multiracial society. The
Xhosa had trouble with the concepts that made American society work.
Jeff explained his own upbringing. While he had seen and experienced discrimination during his life, there had been nothing like apartheid.
Even more so, American society as a whole seemed committed to the idea of the races living together on an equal basis. This was something few
South Africans, white or black, had actually seen. Nconganwe had trouble accepting that it actually existed.
In African culture, the family and extended family were everything.
Loyalty to one’s clan was far more important than any feeling of nationhood. America had forged her own borders. South Africa’s had been drawn by European colonists, with no thought to the peoples already living there.
Jeff’s own family was important to him, but he thought of himself as an
American, not a Hawkins or a Chicagoan. Some of that was his upbringing, but the American ideals of one man, one vote and the rule of law were a basic part of his beliefs, and his loyalty went to the country that represented those beliefs.
And what nation should the Xhosas or Zulus feel allegiance to? The government was the enemy and the South African nation was a collection of peoples kept deliberately apart. There was no concept of the “melting pot” or a pluralistic society. That much of apartheid had taken root.
A hundred-plus years after the Civil War, Americans were still sorting out race relations. Jeff wondered how long it would take in South Africa.
He and Nconganwe had talked for over an hour, and like most Africans Jeff had talked to, Nconganwe seemed willing to take part on faith, but would have to see the rest for himself. Jeff decided to settle for that.
The following day they had marched home through enemy territory, although the Boers’ grasp on it was weak and fading.
It was rough country, in the foothills of the Drakensberg Mountains. The paths rose and fell, passing through brown hills that broke into green only near a river or stream.
The team was headquartered in Tlali, a large village whose chief had been delighted to host Hawkins and his team, since the armed Americans would protect him from the lawless bands that now preyed on the population.
Tlali’s population was Sotho, another tribe common in South Africa, but one not as antagonistic to the Zulu.
The Sotho had actually managed to maintain their own independent nation within the territory of South Africa, mostly by virtue of being on top of an escarpment, surrounded by steep walls, Lesotho was still in the thrall of South African power, but it was also a source of pride. Tlali lay outside its borders, but still maintained the cultural links.
The patrol was walking southeast, toward TIali, when they came over a small rise and saw the village ahead. It lay nestled on a steep hillside, as if to keep the flatter land clear for farming. Fields of maize surrounded the neat thatched huts, and Jeff felt almost at home as he walked toward the village. It made him feel closer to his unknown ancestors….
JANUARY I -TLALl
Hawkins awoke with a start. Even in relatively safe quarters, a part of him always was on edge. His hand was halfway extended toward a pistol nearby when he saw it was Griffith leaning over him.
Relaxing, he glanced at his watch. It was four in the mo ming His body was still sore from two days’ march, and Hawkins said, “This had better be good, Mike.”
“It is, Captain, sir. Very, very good.” Griffith’s exuberant mood intrigued Hawkins, and the officer quickly rose and dressed, then stepped out into the cool darkness.
A small fire was burning in an open space between the huts, and Jeff saw several figures crouched around it, including George Nconganwe. He and
Dworski and Betalizu were all speaking in low voices. He could hear the lieutenant telling the Xhosa about growing up in a Polish neighborhood in Philadelphia.
Nconganwe greeted Jeff and said, “I wanted to bring this information myself. I do not understand it all, but the man who passed it to me said that your people would understand. “
Jeff sat down next to the fire.
“Thank you for bringing this information.
I am sure it will be very useful.”
“I am supposed to tell you that the surveillance radar covering Ladysmith has just broken down. Its ‘transmit-receive relay’ has failed, and they are having difficulty obtaining another. They continue to ‘radiate,” but they cannot see anything on the radar screen. I know the man who overheard this. The Boers did not think he would understand.
“Additionally, some of the garrison was seen leaving town, moving north in trucks.”
Jeff felt his chest tighten a little and fill with excitement. This might be the big break the Allies needed. Ladysmith was a strategic town past the Drakensberg Mountains. If its defenses were weakened .
:1 *
Nconganwe continued, You are helping to free South Africa. The Xhosa remember their friends.” He scowled.
“The Zulu may not be our ffiends, but as long as they are your allies, we will be their allies as well.”
Jeff’s excitement was now mixed with relief, and a little hope.
“I will earn the Xhosa’s friendship, I promise. This is very valuable information,
George. The Allies will be grateful, and it may save many lives.”
“Not Boer lives, I hope.” Nconganwe grinned, then left. He had many kilometers to go before dawn.
Dworski and Griffith looked at him. Their smiles were of frank admiration and of those sharing good news.
“Get me a runner,” Hawkins ordered.
“I have to send a message to Mantizima.
Then we’ll go over to the communications hut. I have another message to send.”
USS MOUNT WHITNEY, IN DURBAN HARBOR
Craig and his staff examined the map of Natal. Ladysmith was an old town, with a history of past battles. It lay along National Route 3, the route picked by Craig and his forces as the best path of advance through the mountains.
Best was a relative term, though. They had lost lives and time fighting through those passes. At times, Craig had wondered if they would lose the campaign here. Taking Ladysmith could change all that.
Ladysmith lay beyond the mountains, in the low foothills on the western side. Beyond the town, the country changed to the veld, open country perfect for mobile warfare,
It was also the supply center for the South African forces in the area and occupied an excellent blocking position. The South Africans had kept it well garrisoned, with a strong airdefense network.
Part of that network was an air surveillance radar. Parked on any of the hills surrounding the town, it gave early warning of any enemy approach.
Jet fighters had attacked it several times, with little effect. Like many modern tactical radars, it was mobile and could move quickly from place to place. It couldn’t radiate on the move, but each attacker would find it in a different place. Now, it appeared the South Africans were running a bluff.
Taking Ladysmith would change the Drakensberg Mountains from a South
African fortress into a prison.
Craig had already started planning the assault on Ladysmith, but that had been from the south, up the highway. He’d thought of it as their graduation exercise, the last battle before the breakout. Now, if they could take the town by storm, it would cut a week off the campaign and maybe win the race for Pretoria.
