NEW WORLD TRILOGY (Trilogy Title) (15 page)

Nodding subtly, almost to himself, Ikaros suddenly catches a glimpse of Motswane running past with some other members of his platoon.  The fact that he hasn't seen him in weeks — or even thought about him for that matter — gives Ikaros an intense feeling of guilt, which then almost immediately gets associated with the fact that he knows he's about to abandon them all.

Two minutes later

The Dutch brother pulls the Jeep up harshly in front of HQ, where Kopano is now standing with Ikaros and Nat.  Ikaros throws his backpack into the tray, having just collected it from a back room of the HQ where he's been catching a few hours' sleep here and there on the unforgiving wooden floor; he then turns to Kopano to offer some words of encouragement.  "All the best…  You're in for a rough ride, but you're the one for the job.  You know that, right?"

"Thank you.  I'll do my best; we all will.  It's been a pleasure having you in our country."  Kopano smiles as they shake hands and hug briefly.  "I don't know where you come from or why, but you won't be forgotten here too quickly."

Since Nat is now sitting in the front, Ikaros jumps into the back seat, slams the door, and leans out the window.  "I come from the suburbs," he informs gently with a slight grin.  "You'd better get out of here, too."

Kopano stands back from the Jeep and nods as the Dutch brother puts his foot to the floor and starts racing down the road.  Ikaros watches as some groups head towards the nearby mountains either by foot or in one of their many appropriated Toyotas or large troop-carrying trucks; he turns around and spots Kopano jump up onto the back of a fully loaded truck just before it moves off.  It's the last to leave.

Thirty seconds later

As Ikaros and his two companions race further away from the town, their Jeep enters a long line of tree cover that extends for several hundred meters on either side of the dirt road leading to the border.  Quietly looking out at the scenery, Ikaros reflects on various moments and events over the past months with the harsh sound of wind rushing in through the half-opened windows when suddenly a penetrating sonic boom enters the cabin; the unexpected shock nearly causes him to jump out of his skin.  He immediately recognises the sound of passing jets, peers out the back window, and spots three flying in close formation as they bear down quickly on the town.

Without looking, Nat states the obvious, "Fighter bombers!  They wouldn't have seen us, though, so don't worry: they've got bigger quarry to deal with than us today!"

More than likely piloted by mercenaries or at least mercenary-trained nationals, Ikaros continues to observe the scene for a moment through the trees as the jets pass over the abandoned base and while several bombs visibly roll in the air towards the ground, eventually creating a long fireball of exploding napalm that rises with fury high into the sky and covers the entire town.  Mesmerised and silent, Ikaros stares into the flames until they dissipate along with his connection to the guerrillas.  He turns around and quietly looks out at the scenery ahead of him, aware that many will already have been spotted by the pilots while desperately trying to reach the mountains and adequate cover.

• • •

They make it back to the South African border town a couple of hours later, by which time Nat and the Dutch brother have already told Ikaros they plan to take a short break there before heading off to find work elsewhere.  Exhausted and thinking only of sleep, they all retire early and wake late, just in time for Ikaros to be seen off on the next bus back to Johannesburg; on arrival, he goes straight to the airport and books a seat on the next available flight out of the country.

8:15 p.m.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, Ikaros sits in a plane destined for São Paulo, Brazil.  As the flight attendant serves the people next to him, Ikaros takes a sip of the European beer he was just given and quietly stares at the seat in front, reflecting on the fact that he feels almost healthy after suffering a relapse of Malaria recently and two severe bouts of dysentery that made him contemplate ending it all on more than one occasion, albeit without a means to do so; his quiet suffering was noted by all those around him and awarded him more kudos than he was comfortable with as so many others also fell ill with the same diseases and others throughout his time with the guerrillas.

Once the flight attendants have moved to the next row, Ikaros reaches down into his bag stowed under the seat and pulls out the only book that he left Australia with:
Ground Surge: the Greatest Socio-Political Change Agents of History
.  This is one of the books he's been obsessed with over the past few years — a vintage paperback now dog-eared and filthy after being made good use of in Botswana — and which he now opens to some of the early pages and starts skimming and scanning, looking for some extra insight into what just happened and why, and also because he doubts that his understanding of what it means to be up against a ruthless and shrewd do-whatever-it-takes opponent is anywhere near adequate.  Not so deep down, though, he realises that the outcome in Botswana was next to inevitable inasmuch as they were surrounded by a highly suspicious and controlling power structure yet were still aggressively searching for any opportunity to thwart it as soon as possible — a worthy pursuit, just unlikely.

More determined now than ever, he recommits to refusing to give up the search for a way in to effect change while he still has chances and choices yet to be found and played.

• • •

Having perfected the peculiar paranoid-yet-rational style of thinking required in order to survive in his particular context, the president of Botswana did indeed develop the suspicion early on that the regional commander was weakening neighbouring junta forces and forging alliances with other commanders and various groups of guerrillas in a bid to lay the foundations to mount a coup at some point in the future.  Acting promptly and decisively, the president allowed disinformation to be leaked down the chain of command, eventually making its way to the regional commander.  Without realising that it was the information itself that couldn't be trusted no matter how much he had faith in the actual emissaries, the regional commander felt confident in passing the job on to his prize guerrillas.  In planning the operation, he ordered the helicopter pilots to return directly to the rebel base in radio silence and then dump the helicopters in the mountains nearby if the mission failed and there was any chance that they were being followed; this, he thought, was being over-cautious in order to ensure the diversion of attention away from his own involvement.  He was wrong.

Having had his bait taken, the president launched an attack on the regional commander's base: sleeper agents were activated and proceeded to assassinate members of the hierarchy, and several large units lying in wait nearby moved in aggressively to retake control, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of soldiers.  In the early stages of the siege, realising the extent of his blunder, the regional commander committed suicide with a single bullet to the head in his office; the phone was ringing on the table.

In the following weeks, the network of conspirators within the army and many of their unfortunate subordinates were purged, resulting in nearly three hundred cadres — many more than was required — being interrogated, tortured, killed or thrown into a hard-labour prison for a brutal and exhausting period.  The strengthening of power that resulted from the purge for the president was extreme: just about the only officers that remained were almost fanatically supportive of him and any that had alternative aspirations quickly learnt by either losing hope all together or keeping their hopes well hidden for the indefinite future.

As for Kopano's guerrillas, following the napalm attack and the hundred and fifty that perished at the hands of the jet pilots before reaching adequate cover, the fourteen-hundred-strong force that remained kept out of sight skilfully in the nearby mountain ranges and hunkered down to initiate irregular attacks on junta troops in an increasingly cunning and artful manner.  This caused substantial frustration and consternation among the junta hierarchy, which never experienced any easing of the pressure imposed on its ranks by a president who aggressively and continually demanded lofty results regarding the suppression of anti-regime activities.

For the guerrillas, with little to no external aid, being up against an asymmetrically resourced military machine, albeit one that was over-stretched and faltering, and mainly only having their wits and determination to support them, it began to look like the recent turn of events made their struggle more intractable than ever and that they may be bogged down in these trying conditions for many years to come; that is, if they could continue to find the means to subsist, replenish their arsenal and munitions, and evade detection while continuing to have small and modest yet effective victories.

Despite the apparent improbability of it all, Kopano was stoic and unrelenting, hoping to remain so longer than his adversaries ever could, and praying that the economic problems of the regime would come to a head sooner rather than later and cause an irrevocable implosion and dissolution of the regime.  It turned out that they had to wait just over nine years, at which time, the multitude of guerrilla forces and their opposing interests led the country into a protracted period of fractured civil war and regionalised warlordism.

• • •

São Paolo: nearly 10:30 p.m.

Having checked into the cheap hotel that his taxi driver chose for him after making sure he wasn't taken to a more sumptuous one the driver probably had some kind of deal with, Ikaros puts his backpack on the floor and falls straight onto the bed, where he lies with arms and legs outstretched.  He stares blankly at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes with effort due to tiredness; once he does so, he quickly begins to dream lucidly.  The air conditioner whirls in the background keeping the blistering heat of the city at bay and creating a comforting rhythm that helps put him into a deep sleep from which he doesn't emerge until mid-morning, remembering only a few incongruous images from a long series of over-detailed dreams that mean little to him and to which he pays scant attention, focusing instead on the fact that he feels more refreshed, focused and energised than he's felt in a long time … and that he's rather hungry.

He walks to the window and pulls back the curtains to get a look at the sprawling city before him.  Although he's well within the confines of one of the city's few safety zones, an 'unnegotiable' requirement for international tourists, Ikaros knows they're all just blips scattered on the map of this unruly megacity.  "No good me being stuck in here," he whispers to himself, planning to get a day pass at an exit gate and never returning.  He picks up his backpack and heads straight to the hotel's dining room for some breakfast.

Chapter 13

Tiegel Airport, Berlin:
one and a half years later

Ikaros stands near the exit of the terminal, waiting patiently.  Still sluggish after sleeping pretty much throughout the flight, he stares blankly out a window into the cold environment of the late November afternoon, the sky already darkening.

He hears a whisper near the back of his neck.  "Hello, Ikaros."  He spins quickly and sees Sascha warmly smiling at him.  She bends forward, kisses him lightly on the cheek, and gives him a tight hug, which he returns in kind.  She feels his thin jacket.  "You're gonna freeze here in this.  Haven't you got anything else…?  Is this really the thickest one you brought?"  She looks down at his particularly small trolley case, which he just bought yesterday in Paraguay, hoping that it isn't.

"Well, yeah, I didn't …"

"You didn't realise it would be cold here?"  She laughs, slightly amused by his apparent casualness or ignorance.  "It's been snowing here off and on for the past month already.  That's been normal for ages … years, in fact.  Haven't you been keeping up with the news?"

"Well, I just thought I could get some more appropriate things here, you know?  And I didn't really have much time before I left; it was kind of a rush."

Sascha notices his sombre tone, nods and decides that this isn't the best time to follow that up, so she just grabs the handle of his trolley case and starts for the exit.  "Let's get you home…  You must be exhausted."

"Kinda hungry, too."

The doors close behind them and Ikaros is immediately confronted with a wall of ice-cold wind that suggests to him that it's going to be a long winter.  As they approach a taxi, he listens closely to the scrunching of the snow under his feet, appreciating its freshness yet slightly saddened that it's his first such experience.

Talking casually to the driver as he places the trolley case in the boot, Sascha affectionately watches Ikaros looking at the ground with full concentration, only breaking it to open the back door for her.  She slides in, not showing him her grin.

As they drive off, Sascha rubs Ikaros's hands with hers — which are nice and warm after being in a pair of weather-appropriate gloves — while Ikaros sits back and takes in the scenery and reminds himself of the fact that he's back in yet another walled city, except that this one is a secluded haven from poor and useless Germans and desperate immigrants who have survived the perilous and futile trek from Eastern Europe and North Africa; encamped all around its walls with nowhere left to go, they're just able to wait for meagre rations to be dumped on them at irregular intervals, but for how much longer no one knows. 
Feels a bit like home … but it's probably more intense here
, Ikaros thinks disquietingly to himself and reflects on this curious epicentre of the Western European Union and the name change that resulted after years of shedding burdensome member states to the east.