Free African Dawn by Tony Park

hand. ‘Thank you. You've changed my opinion of the air force. I always thought you okes were more interested in your bloody machines than in human lives. Ndlovu here pulled Jonty out of the fire, but he probably would have died if they'd waited for the road party to get to them. Come back to the camp with us – the beers are on us.’
    The captain and his sergeant major said their goodbyes to Ngwenya and stood by the bed waiting for George to follow.
    ‘I might come along later, if that's all right. Still got some paperwork to do back at the airfield. You know how it is …’
    There was an awkward moment's silence as the captain registered that George wanted to stay awhile and talk to the black corporal. He eventually shrugged and said, ‘Suit yourself. Bar'll be open from lunchtime.’
    When the army guys left, George sat on the side of Winston's bed and shook his friend's hand again. ‘I hope I haven't caused trouble for you.’
    Winston shook his head. ‘I don't think so, sir .’
    George laughed. ‘I see you got your wish and ended up in the army.’
    ‘You too,’ Winston smiled, ‘but I thought you wanted to fly Vampires?’
    George shrugged. ‘Someone's got to do the dirty work, you know … picking up you grubby soldiers. I enjoy it, though.’
    ‘I don't enjoy getting shot.’ Winston tried to sit up straighter and winced in pain.
    ‘Let me help.’ George put his hands under Winston's arms and lifted him a little. ‘Better?’
    Winston nodded.
    ‘You've changed your name?’
    ‘If I used my real name I'd be dead within a week. If the other men in the battalion knew I was the son of the gaoled terrorist leader Kenneth Ngwenya I'd get a bayonet in the belly, and if the comrades from ZIPRA knew I was working for the kanka they'd try even harder to kill me when I was next on leave.’
    George knew that the terrorists regarded black Rhodesians who worked for the security forces as jackals – kanka – and off-duty policemen and soldiers were in danger of being killed in uniform and out of it.
    They swapped stories of what they'd been doing these past ten years. George found that after the first few minutes of chatting it seemed as though they'd last been together only yesterday. Winston had left Bulawayo for the capital, Salisbury, and sought out his father's older brother, an old rogue called Joseph. Winston's uncle lived on the edge of the law, running girls and two shebeens in one of the townships on the outskirts of the city. Winston had known that Joseph and Kenneth never spoke, so he had been sure his uncle would take him under his wing until he was old enough to join the army. His uncle had put him to work mopping out blood, beer, vomit and God knew what else from his bars and had rewarded him with a buxom working girl on his sixteenth birthday. Joseph had taken great delight shielding Winston from his hard-working, God-fearing schoolteacher father, and had even invited him to stay on with him in Salisbury instead of joining the army. Despite the good times, however, Winston hadn't been able to see himself spending the rest of his life as a pimp or a pickpocket. He had stayed true to his plan and enlisted in the Rhodesian African Rifles.
    ‘Training at Methuen was hard, but I liked it. The instructors treated us like rubbish, but by the end of it we were men,’ he told George, who nodded. Recruit training seemed to be based on the same principles no matter what colour you were or what branch of the services you joined.
    They swapped a few tales of good and bad times in the services before Winston finally got around to asking the questions George had expected. ‘How is my family … How is little Emmerson?’
    George could have predicted Winston's main concern would have been his brother. His mother had always been harsh on him, and his father was an imprisoned political enemy of the country Winston served. Thandi was just a girl. George decided not to lie or be evasive. ‘He's headed for