Killers against Kariba

By Duncan Watt

The Wallace brothers and Muyunda plan a quiet camping trip on Lake Kariba on the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe, but things turn a little hairy.

While photographing hippos one night, Bruce sees a mysterious boat loaded with uniformed men and an assortment of weapons crossing the lake, and the boys decide to investigate.

Their curiosity leads to both Bruce and Muyunda being captured by guerrilla fighters intent on overthrowing the Zimbabwean government. It is up to Nigel to rescue them which he does by setting fire to the surounding bush, nearly incinerating his brother and friend in the process!

Together again, the three boys have to race against time to reach the immense Kariba Dam Wall before a bomb explodes set to bring the wall down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duncan Watt
• Release date: Jan 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465833181

Duncan Watt

I was born in Africa where I grew up; but I have lived in countries like England, America, Papua New Guinea and Japan. I have now lived in Singapore for 35 years.When I was teaching in Zambia I wrote a couple of books in simplified English for my students and these were published by Oxford University Press. Since living in Singapore, where I have, among other things, appeared on the TV News for nearly twenty years, I have written 20 books in my Wallace Boys Series - 11 of which were published here in Singapore.Please visit The Wallace Boys Web Site to find out more about the books, and there is more about me too.

Book preview

Killers against Kariba

An Adventure of the

Duncan Watt

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Duncan Watt

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Cover and illustrations by Paul O’Shea

Maps and diagrams by Duncan Watt

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To Don and Judy

In appreciation for so much

ISBN

First published in 1992 by Tynron Press, United Kingdom

Subsequently by Graham Brash, Singapore

Table of Contents

1. A History Lesson

2. Away from It All

3. A Mysterious Boat

4. Night Vigil

5. Muyunda Leaves the Others

6. Bruce Gets a Fright

7. Into the Hills

8. Nigel Watches and Waits

9. Bruce Is Taken Prisoner

10. The Fight

11. Fire-Raiser

12. Ring of Fire

13. Back to the Lake

14. The Ngweshi Shows Her Paces

15. They Find the Bomb

16. A Car Ride Like No Other

17. Bruce Is a Prisoner Again

18. Scottie Saves the Day

Notes

St Basil’s Cathedral, Moscow

1

A History Lesson [1]

Alexievich Romanov was standing at the tall windows looking over the vast expanse of Red Square. One hand, above his head, clutched the folds of the deep red velvet curtains. The last rays of the setting sun touched the silver mane of his hair. He studied the multi-coloured, onion-shaped domes of St Basil’s.

They say it is going to fall down, you know, Michael, he said

What’s going to fall down?

St Basil’s Cathedral. It’s going to fall down if we don’t do something about it.

Ah, yes, St Basil’s, but we’re not here to discuss that, said the second speaker. We’ve got something much more important to talk about. Would you like to sit down?

Giving one last look at the early spring leaves on the distant trees along the river, Romanov turned away from the windows and crossed to his desk. You say you have a visitor that I should meet? He poured two glasses of vodka. Your very good health, Michael Vronsky. He raised his glass. Now, tell me about your plan.[2]

Vronsky put the glass down on the small table beside his chair.

You may recall that recently we tried to take over the island of St Helena in the South Atlantic Ocean and extend our influence in Angola. Unfortunately those plans were thwarted.[3]

"By three youngsters. Yes, you told me. Most unfortunate.

You seem to be losing your grip, Vronsky. Two missions unsuccessfully completed! Friendship can only go so far, you know. I should hate to see you fail a third time. We Russians are not a very forgiving people, as you well know. Now that we’ve got rid of Gorbachev[4] and his liberal policies, we’ve got to show the world where we stand."

Vronsky studied his hands. They were shaking slightly and there was a sheen of perspiration on his bald head.

This plan won’t fail and the instability that we shall cause will allow us to step in and pick up the pieces. We’ll be able to consolidate our hold over the area much more than we have up to now.

Tell me about this area. Romanov steepled his hands over the leather blotter on his desk. He leant forward.

"The area is the landlocked country of Zimbabwe, in Central Africa. As you know, Zimbabwe is perhaps the most recent African country to gain independence from Britain; 1980, actually, whereas most countries got their independence in the early 1960’s. Zimbabwe’s recent history started at the end of the last century. At that time, the area now known as Zimbabwe was occupied in the main by two African tribes - the Matabele[5], as they were called, and the Shona; the former were a warlike blood-thirsty lot, being a breakaway group of the famous Zulus. The Shonas were much more peaceable. The Matabele had more or less conquered the Shonas and virtually enslaved them by the 1880’s.

"During that period the European powers were scrambling for Africa. The little holdings and trading posts that they had held for centuries along the coasts were no longer enough. Europe wanted markets for its factories; it was no good making things without being able to sell them - cloth, metal goods; and in Africa were thousands of people. And Europe needed raw materials. Who knew what Africa might contain? Diamonds had just been discovered in the Northern Cape and limitless gold in the Boer[6] republic of the Transvaal.

"Explorers like David Livingstone, Stanley and dozens of others had come back from the interior with stories of wide open spaces and the possibility of untold riches. So Europe was ready; there was nowhere else really in the world to expand - South and Central America had already been carved up mainly by the Spanish and Portuguese; and the countries there were already independent republics or rather shaky monarchies. The British and the French were firmly entrenched in the East together with the Dutch and the Portuguese. Australia and New Zealand were accounted for; North America was too.

That left Africa. Vronsky paused and looked across at Romanov who had shut his eyes.

Go on, he grunted. I’m listening.

As I said, the Boers had the Transvaal where they had trekked to, in order to get out of the clutches of the British.

I don’t blame them! murmured Romanov. "Especially if they are all like that woman[7]; the one who said that she could do business with poor old Gorbachev. Go on. So the Boers had the area to the north of the Cape."

"Well, the Prime Minister of the Cape at this time was a man by the name of Cecil John Rhodes; an amazing man - the son of a clergyman in England. Told that he would die of tuberculosis, he went out to the warm climate of South Africa, got involved in diamond mining and by the time he was finished he was probably one of the richest men in the world at the time. He had control of the diamond mines in the Cape but what he wanted was the gold in the Transvaal; he thought that if he could surround that country, he would be able to take it over.

So he sent up envoys to Lobengula who was the chief of the Matabele and by some trickery was able to gain land rights for the people he sent up there - the Pioneer Column. The upshot :: this was that when Lobengula started claiming his part of the bargain there were several skirmishes—the Matabele Wars. Bows and arrows against the machinegun. Naturally the Matabele lost; Lobengula burnt his capital, Gu-bulawayo, and fled north where he died. After that the Matabele, or the Ndebele as they are really called, were under the British heel until the mid-1960s when a group of whites led by Ian Smith broke away from Britain. They said that for a thousand years Rhodesia would be a white country.

Sounds reminiscent of Hitler’s boast about Nazi Germany.

Ignoring the interruption, Vronsky continued, Recognized by very few countries, Rhodesia survived for a number of years very successfully; but the pressures were too great. The Rhodesian War against the black freedom fighters took its toll.

I hope that we had something to do with all of this, Romanov murmured.

Oh yes, most certainly. We trained many of the guerrillas and gave a lot of help, and in the end the Smith regime had to admit that it had lost. Britain took control of the country again briefly in order to allow for elections. All the whites hoped that a moderate black leader would emerge; someone like Bishop Abel Muzorewa who had already served in Smith’s last government when the whites saw the writing on the wall. However, when all the votes were counted, our friend the Marxist-Leninist, Robert Mugabe, took power.

So what’s the problem? Just having Mugabe in control should be enough. Romanov opened his eyes and looked across at Vronsky.

Yes, there should be no problem and we do have a finger in that pie. But the finger doesn’t go deep enough; we don’t have enough of that pie. Mugabe turned to North Korea for assistance and it seems that he has retained many capitalist ideas, because they work, in favour of communist ideas that don’t.

Sensible, I would say. He sounds a practical sort of man.

But that’s not what we want. We want more influence in the country.

And you have a way to bring this about?

Yes. The different tribes who made up the freedom fighters who fought the Smith regime sank their differences to achieve their aims. The Ndebele and the Shonas united. The Ndebele formed a party called ZAPU under Joshua Nkomo - the Zimbabwe African People’s Union with their military wing, Zipra, the Zimbabwe People’s Republican Army. The Shona party was ZANU under Robert Mugabe - the Zimbabwe African National Union and its military wing was Zanla.

And that I suppose stands for Zimbabwe African National Liberation Army.

Yes.

Predictable. Everything in the communist world is either people’s this or liberation that! I often wonder about this, when people have nothing to do with it and there is no such thing as true liberty in any of these countries!

Now, as I said, in order to fight the common menace these two very opposite, volatile groups merged their differences.

Don’t tell me. Since Zimbabwe became independent the old rivalries have emerged. Ah, now that does sound interesting.

The Shonas, who make up the majority of the country, have got nearly all the power and the Ndebele are very sore about it. Mugabe, a Shona, is now the president and virtually all his cabinet are of the same tribe. His former comrade-in-arms, Joshua Nkomo, has been offered very minor posts and generally the Ndebele have been left out. There has been trouble; the Fifth Brigade, trained by North Korea by the way, is the elite branch of the army and manned entirely by Shonas.

So you think that we should come in on the side of this Nkomo fellow; offer him assistance? asked Romanov.

No, because there seems recently to have been a thaw in relations between Mugabe and Nkomo. They are starting to work together.

And that’s something we certainly don’t want! Romanov said cynically.

I have got something that is even more favourable to us. I’ve got the rallying point for all Ndebeles, and I want you to meet ram.

Vronsky crossed the room and opened a pair of double doors. Will you come this way? Sorry to have kept you waiting, Vronsky said in English.

Romanov looked up and watched the newcomer cross the floor. The first impression he got was that a giant had entered the room. The man who entered was colossal. He couldn’t begin to guess his girth; his height, he estimated, was well over two metres. His gargantuan body seemed to stand on tree trunks and the hand that shook his was massive.

Please sit down. He noticed with a smile that Vronsky had thoughtfully provided a chair of suitable proportions.

He looked into the man’s face. Small black eyes were lost above folds of fleshy cheeks and the mouth held a trace of cruelty. Romanov assumed that he was about thirty-five or forty. It was difficult to tell.

Vronsky stood at his side. Allow me to introduce you to the great-grandson of Lobengula, the last king of the Ndebele tribe.

There was a glow in Romanov’s eyes as he said, I’m delighted to meet you. Delighted.

Vronsky continued with the introduction, He has taken the name of Lobengula as his own, although he wasn’t born with that name, and as far as we can ascertain he is the eldest son of the eldest son of the eldest son of Lobengula. He even looks like Lobengula. Vronsky slipped a couple of old photographs across the desk which showed the former chief in his kraal.

Romanov examined them and studied the man opposite him; there was certainly a marked resemblance.

And I intend to take over where my great-grandfather left off, he said, his voice deep and sonorous. It was a beautiful voice, Romanov decided; a voice that could soothe, a voice that could sway, could coax, persuade. He has potential, Romanov thought.

Tell me about your plans, Romanov invited.

With your help, I intend to make my people great once more. I want the Ndebele to be the nation they once were; to take our rightful place in the world. I want the world to know the word Ndebele. I want to right the wrongs that have been committed against my people.

Our plans, broke in Vronsky, are to back Lobengula so that he gains a following, a following that will grow. To these people we intend to present him as Lobengula the Second; we shall help install him as king to succeed his great-grandfather. Already there are many Ndebele in Zimbabwe who have flocked to him as their redeemer and his following is growing.

My people are tired of the state of affairs that exists in Zimbabwe. So I need Russia’s help; you can help financially, you can help by providing the necessary weapons, you can help by advising.

Romanov closed his eyes and listened to the cadences in Lobengula’s voice; the repetitions that could sway a crowd.

And, added Vronsky triumphantly, we have a plan; a plan that can only succeed.

I hope so, Romanov murmured softly. I hope so.

Vronsky looked at Romanov nervously.

The minutes ticked by as the three men talked. The light from the tall windows faded, and the curtains were drawn. Food and drinks were served.

At last, when the remnants of the last dirty dishes had been cleared away, Romanov made his decision.

Yes, he said, we shall help you. You have proved to me that you are a fine speaker, a great orator, and I am sure that your people will follow, but are you a leader? You must prove yourself as a leader; you will have to return to Zimbabwe as the leader of a fighting force, the force that the Ndebele know and have fought for in the past, Zipra. But your force will be called Zipra-AG; Action Group.

Vronsky nodded his agreement. You will therefore need to undergo intensive military training which will cover all aspects of command. In five months, you will be able to assume the rank of General, Commanding Officer of Zipra-AG. We shall help design your uniform and insignia.

"Ah, the insignia. The