Thunderbolt by Wilbur Smith (reading strategies book .txt) 📕

and flyblown; by contrast General Sir looked immaculate again, his uniform pressed, his head newly shaven and oiled, and as usual he had his little baton under his arm. I wanted to rip it from him and snap it in two, but something about the man – the fact he could ship us off to war, probably – made it very difficult to be anything other than polite to him.

I returned his greeting with a ‘good morning’ of my own. Apart from his baton it seemed that General Sir’s policy was to carry nothing at all. Instead he had his minions lug stuff around in his wake. Kayd had an armful of spades and picks. At General Sir’s instruction he dropped these heavily in front of us and stepped away, a glint in his eye.

‘As Mo knows, I encourage new recruits to make a start with some light work. Today I thought you might like to help clear the new field.’

Never mind the ‘encourage’ and ‘thought you might like’ stuff, there was nothing negotiable about the General’s offer. Without making comment Mo picked up the nearest shovel.

It was strange, but the whole thing reminded me of the way kids – myself included – behave when they first start at school: they follow the lead of whoever looks like they know the ropes. Mo had been here before. It seemed best to copy him. As I did so it occurred to me that General Sir keeping Mo with us would be a good tactic to make us behave.

We walked through the scrub for about forty minutes. Already the heat of the day was building. The dust we kicked up smelled like something baked. The scrubland was low-lying and flat at first, but in time it dipped away and bigger bushes sprang up. We were headed towards a meagre stream. Before we got there, we came upon an open stretch in which a number of boys – and, I noticed with relief, for Amelia’s sake – a few girls were already at work.

We’d made this trip following General Sir. He didn’t walk so much as glide ahead with his stupid baton tucked under his arm, and none of us had spoken to him. Once we’d stopped at the head of the field, however, Amelia stuck her hands on her hips and said, ‘What on earth is the point of making us dig this field?’

General Sir spun around, flashing his mirthless smile. ‘Once it is cleared, we can use it to plant crops.’

‘Of course,’ said Amelia. ‘But why us? No offence, but aren’t we worth more to you than that?’

I winced. Amelia was trying to sound sure of herself but the fear in her voice came through all the same. General Sir’s smile remained in place. ‘Work is good for everyone. You included!’ he said. He looked around and pointed his baton-tip at an area that had yet to be cleared. ‘Mo will explain what to do, but essentially I would like you to work here. Understood?’

He didn’t wait for a reply, just ground another dimple in the dirt with his heel and marched off, not in the direction we’d come from, which was from the north, but south-east. We watched him disappear, the dogs trailing behind him. Off he went, gliding with a purpose, like a parking warden doing his rounds.

‘He wants us to dig about in the dirt?’ said Xander, incredulous.

‘Yes,’ said Mo. ‘He tries out everyone the same way. If they make good workers they progress.’

‘To what?’ I asked.

‘Soldiering,’ said Mo matter-of-factly. ‘It’s a test.’

‘A test I don’t want to pass,’ said Xander.

More quietly, Amelia added, ‘Me neither.’

Mo had taken up one of the tools. It was a sort of pick with a wide blade. He tested the weight of it and said, ‘Nobody does, but even so …’ He held the tool out to Xander.

Xander said, ‘I don’t want a goddamn axe!’

‘It’s actually a mattock,’ said Amelia.

For some reason the fact that she couldn’t help herself correcting him, even here, now, made me laugh, and that broke the tension. Xander smiled with me.

Mo said, ‘It is unwise to upset General Sir. If he tells us to clear this area we should do as he says, trust me.’ His eyes were wide, pleading.

I picked up a shovel and said, ‘Well, we don’t want to disappoint him, do we.’

Following my lead, Xander took the mattock from Mo. He got the picture.

‘What happens when General Sir is upset?’ Amelia asked.

Mo had picked up the remaining two tools, a spade and a sort of crowbar. He held them up for Amelia to choose between. ‘It’s just wise to do as he asks,’ he said, ‘or …’

‘Or what?’

Mo sighed. ‘Or else.’

So, we cleared the field. Or some of it, at least. I have to admit the lion’s share of what we achieved was due to Mo. He seemed not to notice the heat, which built through the morning despite the cloud cover. We were lucky it was an overcast day. The full glare of the sun would have been unbearable.

Xander was wearing a shirt over his T-shirt. He took it off and we ripped it up into sections we could dunk in the dirty little stream, then tied them around our heads. The wet strips cooled us down a little and had the added benefit of keeping off the flies, which were back with a vengeance. I tied mine with a tail I could flick to disturb them. Still, every minute or so I had to stop what I was doing to wave the ever-present fly-cloud away.

Mostly we were uprooting small bushes. This involved digging round the base of each plant and then yanking it free. Since the earth was hard we had to break it up with the crowbar first. Then we gouged and stabbed at the clutching roots with the mattock, pickaxe and spade. Once they were properly exposed the crowbar was good for levering the roots up and snapping them clear.