The African looked up. “Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps it is over.”
“Don’t go on fighting,” urged the white man. “There’s no point.”
“Not now,” the lieutenant agreed. He nodded toward the steps of the Super Constellation, where the leader and his group were saying good-by. “But he is leaving for safety. That is good. He is still the leader. While he lives, we will not forget. We will say nothing, do nothing, but we will remember.”
He started the engine of the Land Rover and swung the vehicle into a turn. “Good-by,” he called.
The four other mercenaries called good-by and walked toward the DC-4.
The leader was about to follow them when two nuns fluttered up to him from the darkness of the bush behind the parking apron.
“Major.”
The mercenary turned and recognized the first of them as the sister he had met months earlier, when fighting had raged in the zone where she ran a hospital and he had been forced to evacuate the whole complex.
“Sister Mary Joseph! What are you doing here?”
The elderly Irish nun began talking earnestly, holding the stained uniform sleeve of his jacket.
He nodded. “I’ll try. I can do no more than that,” he said when she had finished.
He walked across the apron to where the South African pilot was standing under the wing of his DC-4, and the two of them talked for several minutes. Finally the man in uniform came back to the waiting nuns.
“He says yes, but you must hurry, Sister. He wants to get this crate off the ground as soon as he can.”
“God bless you,” said the figure in the white habit and gave hurried orders to her companion. The latter ran to the rear of the aircraft and began to climb the short ladder to the passenger door. The other scurried back to the shade of a patch of palms behind the parking apron, from which a file of men soon emerged. Each carried a bundle in his arms. At the DC-4 the bundles were passed up to the waiting nun at the top of the steps. Behind her the co-pilot watched her lay the first three side by side in the beginning of a row down the aircraft’s hull, then began gruffly to help, taking the bundles from the stretching hands beneath the aircraft’s tail and passing them inside.
“God bless you,” whispered the Irish nun.
One of the bundles deposited a few ounces of liquid green excrement onto the copilot’s sleeve. “Bloody hell,” he muttered and went on working.
Left alone, the leader of the group of mercenaries glanced toward the Super Constellation. A file of refugees, mainly the relations of the leaders of the defeated people, was climbing up the rear steps. In the dim light from the airplane’s door he caught sight of the man he wanted to see. As he approached, the man was about to mount the steps while others waited to pull them away. One of them called to him.
“Sah. Major Shannon come.”
The general turned as Shannon approached, and even at this hour he managed a grin.
“So, Shannon, do you want to come along?”
Shannon stepped in front of him and brought up a salute. The general acknowledged it.
“No, thank you, sir. We have transport to Libreville. I just wanted to say good-by.”
“Yes. It was a long fight. Now it’s over, I’m afraid. For some years, at any rate. I find it hard to believe my people will continue to live in servitude forever. By the way, have you and your colleagues been paid up to the contract?”
“Yes, thank you, sir. We’re all up-to-date,” replied the mercenary. The African nodded somberly.
“Well, good-by, then. And thank you for all you were able to do.” He held out his hand, and the two men shook.
“There’s one more thing, sir,” said Shannon. “Me and the boys, we were talking things over, sitting in the jeep. If there’s ever any time— Well, if you should ever need us, you only have to let us know. We’ll all come. You only have to call. The boys want you to know that.”
The general stared at him for several seconds. “This night is full of surprises,” he said slowly. “You may not know it yet, but half my senior advisers and all of the wealthy ones are crossing the lines tonight to ingratiate themselves with the enemy. Most of the others will follow suit within a month. Thank you for your offer, Mr. Shannon. I will remember it. But how about yourselves? What do the mercenaries do now?”
“We’ll have to look around for more work.”
“Another fight, Major Shannon?”
“Another fight, sir.”