Gentlemen, he began. Within the last twelve hours I have been in direct radio contact with the German Abwehr through their representative in Portuguese Angola. He has relayed to us the assurances of the German High Command and of the Fuhrer himself. The German submarine supply vessel Altmark is at present within three hundred nautical miles of Cape Town carrying over five hundred tons of armaments. She awaits only the signal to steam to our aid. He spoke quietly but persuasively, and he sensed the mood swing in his favour.
When he finished there was a short but profound silence and then the administrator said, We have all the facts before us now. We must make the decision. It is this. Before the government can arrest and imprison us and the other legitimate leaders of the Volk, we put into effect the plan. We rise and depose the present government and take the power into our own hands to put our nation back on the course to freedom and justice. I will ask each of you in turn, do you say "Yes" or do you say "No? Ja, said the first man.
Ek stern ja. I say yes. Ek stern ook ja, I also say yes. At the end the administrator summed up for them. We are all agreed, there is not one of us against the enterprise!
He paused and looked at Manfred De La Rey. You have told us of a signal to launch the rising. Something that will turn the country on its head. Can you tell us now what that signal will be? The signal will be the assassination of the traitor Jan Christian Smuts, Manfred said.
They stared at him in silence. It was clear that even though they had anticipated something momentous, none of them had expected this.
The details of this political execution have been carefully planned, Manfred went on to assure them. Three different contingency plans were drawn up in Berlin, each for a different date, depending on the dictates of circumstances. The first plan, the earliest date, suits our present purpose exactly.
Smuts will be executed this coming Saturday. Three days from now - the day before the detention orders are served on our leaders. The silence drew out a minute longer, then the administrator asked, Where?
How will it be done? You do not need to know that. I will do what is necessary, alone and unaided. It will be up to you to act quickly and forcibly as soon as the news of Smuts death is released. You must step into the void he leaves and seize the reins of power., Let it be so, said the administrator quietly. We will be ready for the moment when it comes, and may God bless our battle. Of the eight men in the compartment, only Manfred remained aboard when the express pulled out of Bloemfontein station and began its long run southwards towards Cape Town.
I have a permit to keep a firearm on the estate, Sakkie Van Vuuren, the winery manager, told Manfred. We use it to shoot the baboons that come down from the mountains to raid the vineyards and orchards. He led the way down the steps into the cool gloom of the cellars.
Anybody who hears a few shots coming from the mountains will take no notice of them, but if you are challenged, tell them you are employed by the estate and refer them to me. He opened the false front of the wine cask and stood aside as Manfred opened one of the waterproof canisters.
First he lifted out the radio transmitter and connected the new batteries which Van Vuuren had procured for him. The radio was fitted into a canvas rucksack and was readily portable.
He opened the second canister and brought out the rifle case. In it was a sniper's model 98 Mauser, with that superb action which permitted such high breech pressure levels that the velocity of the 173 grain bullet could be pushed UP over 2500 feet per second. There were fifty rounds of the 7-57 mm ammunition which had been specially hand-loaded by one of the expert technicians at Deutsche Waffen und munitionsfabrik, and the telescopic sight was by Zeiss. Manfred fitted the telescopic sight to the rifle and filled the magazine. The rest of the ammunition he repacked and then stowed the canisters away in the false-fronted cask.
Van Vuuren drove him up into one of the valleys of the Hottentots Holland mountains
in his battered old Ford half tonner, and when the track at last petered out, he drove back down the rocky winding trail.
and left him there
an Manfred watched him out of sight and then hefted his pack and rifle and began to climb upwards. He had plenty of time, there was no need to hurry, but the hard physical exertion gave him pleasure and he went up with long elastic strides, revelling in the flood of sweat on his face and body.
He crossed the first range of the foothills, went down into the wooded valley and then climbed again to one of the main peaks beyond. Near the crest he stopped and set up the radio, stringing his aerials from the tops of two cripplewood trees and orientating them carefully towards the north.
Then he settled down with his back to a boulder and ate the sandwiches that little Sarah had made for him. The contact time with the Abwehr agent in Luanda, the capitol of Portuguese Angola, 1500 hours Greenwich Mean Time, and he had almost an hour to wait.
After he had eaten he took the Mauser in his lap and handled it lovingly, refamiliarizing himself with the weapoWs feel and balance, working the bolt action, bringing the butt to his shoulder and sighting through the lens of the telescope at objects down the slope.
in Germany he had practised endlessly with this same rifle, and he knew that at any range up to three hundred metres he could choose in which eye he would shoot a man.
However, it was essential that he check the rifle to make absolutely certain that the sights were still true. He needed a target as close to that of a human form as possible, but he could find nothing suitable from where he sat. He laid the rifle carefully aside, checked his wristwatch and transferred his attention to the radio.
He set up the Morse key and turned to the page of his notebook on which he had already reduced the message to code. He flexed his fingers and began to send, tapping the brass key with a fluid rapid movement, aware that the operator at Luanda far in the north would recognize his style and would accept that rather than his code name as proof of his identity.
Eagle Base, this is White Sword. On the fourth call he was answered. The signal in his headphones was strong and clear.
Go ahead, White Sword!
Confirm plan one in force. Repeat plan one.
Acknowledge. There was no need for a long message that could increase the chances of being traced or intercepted. Everything had been arranged with Teutonic attention to detail before he left Berlin.
Understand plan one. Good luck. Over and out from Eagle Base. 'Over and out White Sword!
He rolled the aerial wires, repacked the transmitter, and was about to swing it on his shoulder when an explosive barking cough echoed along the cliffs and Manfred sank down flat behind the rock and reached for the Mauser. The wind favoured him and he settled down to wait.
He lay for almost half an hour without moving, still and intent, scanning the valley floor below, before he saw the first movement amongst the jumbled lichen-covered rocks and stunted protea bushes.
The baboons were moving in their usual foraging order, with half a dozen young males in the van, the females and young in the centre, and three huge grey patriarchal males in the rear guard. The infants were slung upside down below their mothers bellies, clinging with tiny paws to the thick coarse belly fur and peering out with pink hairless faces.
The larger youngsters rode like jockeys perched on the backs of their dams. The three fighting bulls at the rear of the troop followed them, swaggering arrogantly, knuckling the ground as they moved forward on four legs, their heads held high, almost doglike, their muzzles long and pointed, their eyes close-set and bright.