Zar

By Rodney St Clair Ballenden

In !975 a rebel ZAR force invades South Africa, crossing the Tugela River to carve out a chunk of land and proclaim an independent state for the Afrikaner people. The Afrikaner leadership is split by internal wrangling between detente and warfare threatening the stability of the newly proclaimed state. Brik Taljaard joins the rebel forces and in so doing chooses freedom and independence over family. This decision destroys his family and costs him the only woman he ever loved, but connects him to a friendship born out of the very essence of the conflict; hatred and mistrust.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rodney St Clair Ballenden
• Release date: Jul 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310174087

Rodney St Clair Ballenden

Rodney St Clair Ballenden was born in Nairobi, Kenya, in 1947. In lieu of an academic career he traveled extensively through Europe, the United Sates of America and Greece. He married Colleen and returned to South Africa to farm, but the call of the wild drew him into a hermit existence placing him in extreme situations exposed to danger and the vagaries of storm and wind. From his observations on man and his relationship with the wilderness he began to write, and his books are available on the SmashWord platform as well as at Amazon. Rodney now lives in Greece.

Book preview

VERKEERDEVLEI

An army jeep drove at speed along a dusty farm road the ploughed lands on either side neglected and barren. In the distance, the mountains too spoke not of life but of rocks, one balanced on top of the other, a useless heap of rubble.

Brik Taljaard, clutched the steering wheel, his jaw set against the dust. His stare fixed on every twist and turn ahead. He knew this road by heart, having walked it all his life and driven it in the farm vehicles; tractor, truck, car and bakkie. He even rode it several times, back in the good old days, when his father had saddled a pair of horses. One mare and one stallion. But those days had slipped by, gone forever, their memories fading.

He had lived here for twenty two years and only left to join the army, a mere year and three months ago. Now, he returned. He returned to a place he no longer called home, the desolate landscape his witness to a barren future. The march of the soldier and the growl of a diesel engine, his call to a promised land.

Down into the valley he sped. He crossed the dry river bed, changing down a gear, and up the other side, accelerating towards the foothills of the mountains. He flew in the face of the soft sand and the loose gravel, his foot flat, pushing the old jeep to maximum effort. The flag on the bonnet a homemade affair, the staff bending against the wind, the edges already frayed, but the JOC emblem of Brik’s command defiant against the odds.

Ma saw him coming.

She stood at the kitchen window, clutching the curtain, hiding in the deep shadows, not wanting to admit the reality of Brik’s unexpected appearance.

Franette saw him too.

She raced from the shed, squealing and giggling, anticipating the fun, and across the yard and into the mielie fields behind the house. The fields had long been abandoned, the stalks withered and dying, many already fallen, their pathetic lives wasted even in death. Franette’s dress a splash of colour as she leapt the rows, running deeper and deeper towards the centre of the land, caring not if she fell or stood.

Brik followed, smashing everything in his path.

The jeep heroically withstanding the test, holding all parts together, even the side-doors, the engine growling its approval of the chase as it hauled in Franette.

Brik skidded to a halt. Franette jumped aside, the jeep coughing to a standstill some distance away. He tackled her and they rolled over together, each holding the other, rolling into a trough and lying there, their breath hard, their eyes wide and staring, and their hair a mess, the sweat on their faces lined in dirt.

Got you, Brik exploded.

Do it, Franette wheezed. Now....please, and she tore at Brik’s uniform. All of you...please. Quick...oh please, please.

Not so fast. Nicely, Brik said, and slowed things down.

He lifted her skirt and kissed her thigh, kissing deeper. Franette growled. Brik slid her panties off, and unbuttoned his uniform, tossing his shirt aside. Franette pulled his pants off, and took him in her hands, kissing along the length of his shaft and around the head. Then, she wriggled from her skirt and lay naked on top of him.

They kissed.

Their lips wet, their urgency swamping their shyness.

Franette lowered herself onto him, arching her back, her one hand clutching the stalk of a dead mielie plant. And they rocked together. Slow and rhythmic, their eyes still locked, their urgency gone. Franette felt herself, opening herself for him, feeling his power and surrendering to his want, his groans now her beat, pulling him out of himself. Pulling and pulling...and he came. She felt it. A rush, deep inside her, pouring up into her cavity, threatening to explode through her belly button.

Then she too came.

She pressed down hard, closing herself, holding him in, wanting to keep him there forever.

Ma snapped the curtain closed and turned back into the darkness. Her eyes wide, not seeing, determined to wipe the memory of her son from her mind. She ran from the kitchen, bumping into Pa in the passage and gripped his collar to hiss into his ear, He’s here.

Pa brushed passed and flung open the kitchen door.

He could see the jeep in the mielie fields out back, Brik and Franette standing nose to nose, their fingers doing something down their fronts.

Bitch, he snarled, and turned back into the kitchen.

It’s him, not her Ma said. He’s no good...that boy of yours.

And yours.

Not anymore.

Ma, lifted the lid from a heavy saucepan simmering on the stove and stirred vigorously, dropping the lid as the steam swirled into her face. She turned back to the window and pulled the curtain aside, just an inch, wanting to see her shame.

You keep looking, Pa said.

Ma stared out, stoic in her silence.

Brik lifted Franette into the jeep, leaning against the door post, his hands on her breasts, touching softly, feeling the hardness of her nipples.

That was good, he whispered.

Because we’re good together, Franette whispered back. She gathered herself, speaking slowly, her voice firm in the conviction of her desire. And we can have it all...forever...each turn as magical as the first.

Brik smiled, drawing breath, as he too basked in the belief of Franette’s desire, wanting just as much to be in her sacred space, wet all over, and smothered in the power of their love.

Tonight, he said, his voice firm and convincing.

Tonight? She whispered back, thinking of doing it over again.

He nodded, his lips firm.

Franette pulled back, understanding the meaning of his look.

Then, you’ll be gone, she managed to say.

Yes.

Franette, at a loss, her anger boiling, her voice crackling, What about...you promised me, she stuttered. Remember. Not just a fake promise, something you meant...for real...from here, and she punched his heart.

Everything’s changed. I’m not in control, Brik replied. I promised you, because things were different then...

Franette, walked away struggling to accept Brik’s reply. In one week....everything’s changed in one week, she said. Even you...you’re not the same. That look of yours.

Maybe not.

How is that possible?

To change?

In one week?

We can still get married, Brik assured Franette. That hasn’t changed. I still love you. It’s just...just that...

Married for nothing, Franette snapped. Once you go, you go. I know you, the stubborn part of you. You can only love here...in a mielie field. Not over there in some horrible place you call our land.

Brik grabbed Franette by the shoulders, twisting her to face him. Listen...listen, Franette. This is for real. It’ll never be over between us. We’re going in tonight...going in hard. We have to...to make it last, he said. For the better.

Franette shrugged him off: You’re a dreamer, dear Brik...just a dreamer. I liked that about you...in the beginning I liked that a lot, but not now. Now, you dream without me.

Brik kissed her, a gentle brush of the lips. I love you for who you are...not for me and will always love you.

They kissed again, getting hotter and hotter.

We both are, Franette managed to say. Silly galumphs.

Thank God.

They held each other as they had done so many times before, their heads rocking, their feet touching, once again believing in the promise of their future together.

THE INVASION

The flags of the ZAR Army fluttered at their posts, straining to be free, the whip in their hands teasing them to fly free. The troop of the Eland Corps waited too, the excitement of going over now dimmed by the all night wait, frozen in the gloom of the same old sun rising on another wasted day.

Brik stood in the turret of his Eland tank, exhaling in short bursts, his breath a white vapour mixing with the tobacco from the butt end of his fag. A single Eland vehicle up front stood idle in the eerie light and several stood idle behind, all of their 90mm cannon pointed horizontally to the front. The clink of metal on metal sharp in the brittle chill of dawn. Every man and every vehicle a dark silhouette, their bravado sullen in the numbness of their waiting.

Inside the Eland of Brik, Spoefie, tried to bounce a 90mm round against the floor plates, catching the round as it spun towards him.

Brik watched from the hatch, his frustration at the delay evident. What the hell, he muttered. Let’s go! Let’s go...please...

He tapped a cigarette from his packet and held it in his lips, but did not light it. The orders were specific; no lights, total silence, and total blackout. Brik’s face was painted black, his balaclava drawn down tight over his head. He wore half gloves to darken his skin, only his fingers showing. Even the Eland had been scuffed up to dull any reflective bits, and every soldier, to the man, looked the same, like dark apparitions, appearing from nowhere psyched up to dish out their quota of death and destruction.

A combi truck pulled into a lay-by on the other side of the road and turned around facing back the way it had come. It stopped to the side of the road under a row of trees and a two men hurried about pulling out equipment and setting up a base at the head of the Eland column. Through the confusion of this commotion Brik saw Kommandant van Vuuren walking briskly down the line towards him.

Gideon’s head appeared in the narrow gap between Brik’s legs and the darkened sky.

Psst, he hissed.

Get down, Brik ordered.

Gideon tugged at Brik’s leg and signalled for a smoke, holding up his finger, begging for just one. Brik broke his cigarette in half and handed it down. Gideon stared at the broken fag, the tobacco falling out the one end. He looked up at Brik and shook his head in disgust.

Brik leaned in and pinched Gideon’s lips together. Ssh! he snapped. Here comes the Kommandant. Brik saluted into the darkness, a smart clip to his forehead.

We wait, Kommandant van Vuuren informed Brik. The politicians drivel over the issues. Until then we wait.

Sir.

Keep tight. Your orders stay the same.

Sir. Brik saluted again as Kommandant van Vuuren walked away. Then, he leaned down and snapped at Gideon. Stay inside. You smoke here. You piss here. You crap here. Nothing’s changed. Get it, and make that fuck wit Spoefie understand.

We’re all going mad, Gideon hissed back. Just all fucking bad. Bad, bad, bad."

Brik watched the two Eland commanders behind him jump to the ground and meet in a huddle in the shadow of their vehicles. He thought of joining them, but sat astride the turret, surveying the scene, wondering if they would ever move or if the whole operation had been called off. Maybe, it’s too risky? Maybe, the moment was not right or worse, that a political settlement was the only option?

Brik jumped from the turret and walked towards the front of the queue. A group of his fellow soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder around the lead vehicle, their cigarettes cupped in the palms of their hands, their heads craning forward, every one of them spellbound by a civilian man squatting on his haunches in the middle of their circle. This man held a microphone in one hand. He pointed it at the soldier in front of him and moved around the circle as each spoke, one soldier at a time. Another civilian stood close by and operated a small camera, cutting back and forth from the Eland column to the soldier speaking.

The hackles on Brik’s neck rose.

This was not good.

It was obvious to Brik what was going on here. He may have been raised on a farm, but not in the ignorance of the outside world. Somehow, there had been a breach of security. But by whom? And why? What would be the consequences of this? That was the big question raging in Brik’s mind. What were the consequences? The question of why was not the issue, but the question of how did this happen? A breach in security? And Brik decided that the breach had come from within his own command. Perhaps, even Kommandant van Vuuren himself had allowed this to happen. Of course, that made sense. Only the Kommandant could have allowed a civilian to film the events of this scene. But surely the Kommandant had not acted alone. He was a  professional soldier and would not act independently without orders. That’s how the system worked. From the top down to the bottom. Every soldier on the chain would salute and go do the job as ordered. Do and do not think. It was the only way.

Especially on the front line, and Brik now stood on the front line. As gunfire opens and bullets fly a true soldier acts. His animal brain ignites. Not a thought. An action. He does not hide. He charges into the fire. Instinctively he counts on the man charging alongside him, their common purpose their shield, the determination of the one feeding the courage of the other. In this way they overcome the obstacle. Together they stand on the crest and raise their flag. They gain the victory inherent in their common belief that justice will prevail as promised the day they committed to this fight.

Brik shouldered his way between two soldiers, his urgency in sharp contrast to those milling about, upright and stiff, the formality of his bearing a signal to the civilian man in front of him to be weary, here cometh a man not to be taken lightly, a man who will not swallow the bullshit of another man’s ambition without him first proving himself, and proving himself on a flat table, the table of honour.

And you, sir, the civilian snapped, pointing the microphone at Brik.

Who are you? Brik demanded to know.

Are you a rebel or part of the South African Defence Force?

''You should leave.''

I have permission. There’s my van, the man said, and indicated the blue and white Volkswagen parked under the trees some distance away. Dented and dusty but a noble servant. I am a private documentary maker, the man introduced himself. Just making my way, and this is the first scene of a story that begs to be told.

What's your name? Brik continued, irritated by the microphone stuck in his face. See...here’s my name. Brik tapped his name tag stitched above his heart. Nothing sinister. This my command, and Brik tapped the JOC emblem on his shoulder. Joint Operation Command, South African Defence Force. We are not rebels.

A clandestine unit, the man continued to dig, his voice cutting, his intention obvious. My name is Garth Oldman, and your name may be the only thing transparent about you and your mission. There is no record of any JOC. No previous operations on record. No background. I’ve done my research...

Then you will know, we are an elite group on an elite mission the details of which have nothing to do with you or your presence here. Brik drew a deep breath. We are the men on the ground. We do what we are ordered to do and the JOC gives us the orders. It’s as simple as that.

I am not here on subversive grounds, Lieutenant Taljaard, Garth explained. In fact quite the opposite...

Get fucked mister, Gideon hissed, popping up from nowhere.

And you sir, Garth said, swinging to face Gideon. What are your orders?

To kill you.

Gideon’s face mirrored his intentions. A face of conflict not to be taken lightly. He drew his finger across his throat, his tongue bent into his chin. His eyes stood, like blistered ticks, threatening to pop should this imposter so much as swivel on his haunches or so much as dare oppose him. He was such a prick. He thought he owned the place. He owned nothing nor any of his jerkarsed commies.

These are my buddies,'' Gideon snarled. ''Rebels, soldiers...I’ll die for them, you prick, Gideon warned Garth.

What if we are both on the same side? Garth replied, standing his ground, the microphone steady in his hands.

I’ll kill you anyway. I kill all kaffirs, especially white kaffirs, Gideon said.

Spoefie elbowed his way forward to support his buddy. We were raised to kill the kaffir, he snarled. It’s our promise.

Who’s a kaffir? Garth asked. He looked around the circle of men, his manner comical and provocative. Are we not all...

Listen you cunt...

Kaffir now cunt. You give me titles above my status, Garth said, his amusement obvious.

We get it at birth, Gideon continued. We don’t have to think about it. There’s no description....it’s instant. He snapped his fingers. We are born to hate.

Crap like you, Spoefie added. We rub you out. Spoefie dug his heels into the ground  twisting an imaginary cockroach into oblivion.

The black man is our enemy, Gideon hissed, his face contorted in his fanatical belief. Just like the fucking animals, you idiot. The hyena hates the lion...

Eternal enemies, boetie, Spoefie added, sticking the fuck sign in Garth’s face.

White and black never mix...ever, Gideon said, his spit wetting his words.

Ask God, Brik interrupted. He knows.

He did it, Gideon reminded Garth. Remember, you doos. He created everything, what we like and don’t like, and who’s on top and who’s at the bottom.

Since the beginning...everything after God. Evolution just keeps it all in place, Brik added. God first until science decides.

But there are a few good fellows on both sides, Garth said, fuelling the fire. And these good fellows are equally determined to win this fight.

Good fellows, Spoefie spluttered. ''Fuck them."

They will never conquer us, Brik scoffed.

Because of the kaffir bastards, Gideon added."We go our own way.''

What about negotiation? Garth, now the reporter, asked, swinging the microphone around the circle. The men backed off. Bring them in, Garth continued. A famous general once said, bring your enemy into your midst. Better close at hand, where you can see him, than out of sight where he can stirr his mischief and surprise you in the middle of the night.

We get no surprises, Spoefie said. Because, no kaffir is in our tank.

Gideon couldn’t wait to speak his mind. Kill or die. Never negotiate, he added.

Klap hom, a soldier muttered.

One bullet, one ape. another soldier suggested.

If we have enough, that is, Brik said.

Castrate the bastards, and Spoefie slashed his crotch with his finger. With a blunt knife, he added just for fun.

Every Kaffir has two dicks. One in his stomach and one in his mouth. And Gideon spoke the defining truth.

We’ll run out of knives, Brik said. He turned on his heels and walked away, frustrated by the presence of Garth and his irritating manners, but having come to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do about it.

Gideon and Spoefie followed Brik, and as they walked back to their Eland, they each offered their insights into the happenings at the head of their column. None of them walked in the ease of their earlier mustering, when at 19hundred hours they had scrambled from the orderly room, their hearts pumping to the tune of their glorious vision, their minds blank, save for the commitment they had just given their Commanding officer, Kommandant van Vuuren; to strive and never surrender until the independent flags of the Zuid Afrikaner Republiek flew over the land they claimed as theirs.

Gideon, began with his usual no nonsense tone, Who’s that guy? Fuck'n rubbish.

Clean him out, Spoefie advised.

You do it, Spoefs. You’re the killer. I love you for that, Gideon said, and hugged Spoefie. You are so fucking pure.

Brik, more cautious, thinking his way through the confusion, replied, his voice flat, Listen guys, I don’t know this creep, just don’t do anything stupid.

He’s trouble, Spoefie said, always on the lookout for