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."Next, he found Harrison trying to sleep, his head against the front tire of the Saladin.His normally dapper appearance was a disaster; sweat stains ran down his shirt, front and back, dust clogged every pore of his exposed flesh, and he needed a shave.Casey gave him a gentle nudge with the toe of his boot."Get up, Harrison.There's work to do.And you can't do it if you're on your butt snoring."Harrison turned a wounded expression on his leader."My God, man, don't you have any consideration for me at all? I know the rest of you are savages and used to this kind of thing, but I'm a gentleman and a pilot, accustomed to a slightly higher, more refined standard of living.Can't you see I'm a bloody wreck? I need a bath, a shave, a drink of decent whiskey, and a good lay, not necessarily in that order, mind you."In spite of himself, Casey grinned.It was good to see that some things never changed.When Harrison lost his ascerbic wit, he knew they were all in deep trouble."Get up we've got things to do.I want you to take an ammo count and have it redistributed evenly among the men.Don't take any crap from them.Just see that they do it, then check over the Saladin and the truck.If anything needs fixing, you have half an hour to do it.Don't bother with the half-track; we're leaving it behind." Not waiting for any response, Casey headed for the village, taking one of the South African mercs with him to serve as an interpreter.He passed Van and his party returning with three roasted goats and a dozen chickens.The birds were being gnawed at on the way, a trail of bones marking the men's path.He waved them on toward the others, shouting to Beidemann, "Make sure everyone gets some, or I may have to have your well larded ass barbecued as well." That brought a gale of laughter from the waiting mercs who quickly lapsed into an awkward silence as Beidemann glowered at them.As Casey and his interpreter neared the line of mud huts, mothers hustled their children inside to keep them away from the eyes of the pale strangers.They had seen whites before, those who came to dig wells and plant crops that couldn't grow.The first were harmless if ignorant, but the others were like these hard faced ones who carried weapons and had the look of death about them.One old man did not move.He sat in the shade of his hut, brushing away the more persistent of the swarming flies with a short whisk made from the tail hairs of a wildebeest.His thin shoulders and knees were covered by a homespun, faded, red cotton mantle nearly as old as he was.Casey told the South African what he wanted to know and stood behind him as the merc hunkered down on his haunches to be on eye level with the ancient black African.It took a couple of minutes before the two found a common tongue.Then, after a series of clucking sounds, eye movements, and many hand and arm gestures from the old man, the merc finally stood up, politely thanked the old one, and turned back to Casey."The old guy says there is nothing ahead of us for at least a three day walk.There are a few guards at the border of Barotseland, but he says they do nothing but drink thin beer and sleep.He does know that not too far across the border there is an airstrip used by a Dutch mining franchise to bring in supplies and men.One, of his sons works for them."At that, Casey perked up.A private field across the border in Barotseland would probably not be well guarded, and it was also quite possible the Dutchmen knew nothing of their approach.If that were the case, then he might be able to get Harrison his plane after all.From his pocket he tossed the old man a pack of cigarettes in thanks for his help.After their backs were turned, the old one threw the pack across the dirt street and spat at the tracks of the whites.By the time Casey got back, the half-track had been disabled by Harrison's skillful hands.Its tanks were drained of the few gallons of gasoline remaining in them, and the men who had been in it were assigned to their new positions.It would be a bit crowded in the two remaining vehicles, but it couldn't be helped.The Saladin was designed for a crew of four.Now it carried twelve, most of them hanging onto the outside.The remaining men and all their heavy weapons were in the truck.The mortars, recoilless rifle, and ammo took up nearly all the floor space.If anyone was going to sleep, he'd have to do it sitting up on the wood benches or on top of the weapons.Calling his men together, Casey briefed them on their situation."Men, we were sold out.Not by the contractors, but as you've probably guessed by the N.F.L.K.The situation is this: To the south and east is Rhodesia, but I think that option is too risky for us to try right now.The roads are probably being watched, and the border patrols will have been alerted.So we are going to keep heading south a bit longer to Barotseland [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]