A Weekend with Lana

By Darryl Terry

This novel is set on the shattered continent of Africa in the near futureThe main character, Lieutenant Colonel Jon Taylor is a tired and jaded semi alcoholic officer of the South African Army who is involved with UN peace enforcement in Africa as well as his daughters involvement with the international space program.

His long friendship with the young but highly intelligent Lana develops into an intense romance and he has to decide whether to continue as a soldier facing cruel violence or to come home for good. His decision leads to unexpected results.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Aug 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499088908

Darryl Terry

Darryl Terry started writing short stories in his part time, from a relatively young age of eighteen years when he was conscripted into the South African Army under the “National Service” system, compulsory for all white males, under the “Apartheid” government of the time. He served extensively in the operational areas of Namibia and Angola and later on as a Logistics Officer he assisted the United Nations in Africa and wrote many military doctrines and handbooks. He has left active service after 36 years and currently lives in Gauteng, South Africa.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The blazing African sun seemed to suck the moisture out of the earth leaving dusty sand and scorched plants for the relentless flies buzzing around. Even the soft wind felt like it had blown out of a coal oven and the air shimmered from the dry heat pouring out of the earth. Any movement no matter how slight caused plumes of grey dust to rise in clouds that settled on everything and parched your throat as you breathed. Sweat ran down his forehead and cheeks to his neck and his uniform clung tightly to his chest, also damp from his perspiration. He pulled his beret off to wipe his soaking hair. More flies buzzed in his ears and, irritated, he brushed them away cursing profusely.

Lieutenant Colonel Jon Taylor was a trim and well-built middle aged man with the classical square face and hollow cheeks with high, prominent cheek bones and although he was closely shaved you could still see his beard against his tanned skin. Unlike most of the soldiers whose uniforms were faded and soft from the harsh sunlight, his camouflage uniform was fresh with bright green and brown markings. Much to the ire of the quartermaster he would be at the clothing stores to exchange his uniform every six months or so. His reasoning was that if they spent a fortune on uniforms that were infra-red resistant, then why wear a faded uniform that no longer had that capacity? The quartermaster hated him, like all quartermasters who just didn’t like issuing their stock out. But he knew the stores regulations well and he just told them that they were storeroom cunts and maybe they should leave the comfort of their store and come out with him for just one day into the field.

He should have been wearing the United Nations blue beret but today he had chosen to wear his maroon parachute beret. Propping his head up with his fingers held in a v shape, his intensely green eyes gazed crookedly at the sky above. His sensuous lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he wondered if this trip was just a waste of time. Apparently someone had noticed vultures circling above and that only meant that there was a problem somewhere. It would be either a lion kill or, most probably someone in distress.

Leaning back in his seat in the Land rover, he breathed in deeply as he reached into his shirt to take out a small bottle. The cap screwed off easily and he took a long and deep drink. The vodka burned him but it went down well. Glancing up, out of the corner of his eye he could see his driver’s eyes flashing towards him. Being a non-drinker or a non-smoker, he did not approve of his bosses habits.

Circling overhead in the sky to the West of the small convoy his sharp eyes picked up vultures circling in the sky overhead. Gesturing to his driver to stop, the vehicle came to a dusty halt on the side of the sand road. Clouds of choking dust poured in through the window and he opened the door and climbed out. Behind him the rest of the vehicles also stopped raising more clouds of the sandy dust.

In the vehicle behind him the radio crackled and the voice of a young Non-Governmental Organisation, (NGO), aid-worker sounded high pitched and urgent.

Curnel Taailor, what ees eet?

For a second he grimaced at the mispronunciation of his rank and name.

Foking kak, het hierdie vrou nie n’ bliksems se idea van radio prosesedures, (Fucking shit, does this woman have no idea of radio procedures?), then he grabbed the mike and depressed the button. Alpha two this is Alpha zero. Climb out of your vehicle and come with me. He recognised the voice of the woman. She was a pretty blond Non - Governmental Organisation, (NGO) volunteer, probably from Belgium and her English was appalling. He laughed when he realised that he couldn’t even remember the name of the NGO that they represented

Climbing out of his vehicle he barked out to his driver, Mabata, tell them to come with me, and tell Lieutenant Swart I want a section of troops to follow us? He headed over towards the group and gestured to them to follow him.

Still choking on the dust they made their way clumsily through the soft sand in the direction of a gaunt tree with the vultures’ still circling over-head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the vehicle with the local militia and the chief’s representative circling around to join them. The vehicle stopped and although the militia remained seated the representative climbed out. He was furiously shouting out instructions in Swahili. Then he turned to waddle over at full speed to join them. He was short with bandy legs and a round punch. With a horribly scarred face from acne and thick lips flecked with black and red marks.

His bloodshot eyes bulged with effort as he joined them with a great amount of huffing and puffing, saliva spewing in drops out of his mouth as he tried to catch his breath. Holding his head high in a ridiculous attempt to emphasise his importance and muttering unintelligibly, he was clearly annoyed.

Jon ignored him and gestured for them to move on.

Over there! The UN aid worker pointed to what appeared to be a pile of stinking rags under the gaunt tree. Quickly they headed over towards it and the other worker, the pretty blond young lady bent over to lift the rag. The stench of dry urine and human waste was unbearable and clouds of flies hovered over the ghastly pile.

No, don’t. Let me do it. The male worker stepped forward and stooped down to lift the rags. He froze and the blond recoiled in shock and disgust. A human skeleton lay beneath the mess and she could only gaze up at them in pathetic desperation, her eyes wide and staring, too weak and beyond even resignation to attempt to move.

He had seen this before, women abandoned because they could no longer control their bowl and pelvis movements, their bodies ravished from giving birth to babies when they were hardly old enough to be called young girls. Left on their own, no one from their tribe was prepared to care for them. Usually they died alone and unpitied.

But this was the worst he had ever seen. Somehow she had kept going, clinging to a wretched nightmare existence in the middle of this continent from hell. Her skeletal face with the large eyes gazed at them as the flies crawled over her.

Standing there, the world reeled around him. Only by shaking his head violently was he able to gain some control over himself. Now I know what it’s like to see hell, he thought.

The young blond started to shake uncontrollably and he grabbed her and held her tightly as she sobbed against his chest. Tears welled in his own eyes and he blinked furiously trying to hold them back. The UN worker gestured to the medics by the Land rover and shouted for them to bring a stretcher.

No, no, the local chief’s emissary shook his head and gestured negatively.

We may not let you take her. She must stay here. His dark face showed no compassion as he regarded them and he repeated, She stay here, you are not authorised to move her.

The worker looked helplessly and the blond blurted out furiously, She will die if we leave her here, are you too stupid to realise this or do you simply don’t care? Tears of frustration poured down her face and she shook uncontrollably in his arms.

Looking at the emissary Jon could feel nothing but a deep feeling of loathing and sickness.

You call me stupid, the emissary shouted. This will be reported. Colonel did you hear this? he said turning to Jon.

Jon wanted to retch as his stomach heaved and suddenly he realised how sick and tired he was of this work, this war, supposed to be peace keeping. But these leaders seemed to have no sense of compassion towards their own people. Only the pursuit of senseless power games mattered and the deep gnawing emptiness inside of him felt like a chunk of cold lead.

Suddenly there was a hollow silence, except for the buzzing flies and the distant mutterings of his troops in their vehicle. Everyone was staring at him and he felt that unreal sensation of being in a dream. A dreadful pressure seemed to press in upon him as if he were standing in a swimming pool underwater staring at this surreal scene.

Then out of the corner of his eye he saw the TV news team appear out of nowhere. Already the female reporter was yammering out her story as the camera focused on them and the pathetic woman still lying amongst her filthy rags in the sand. He looked down and his eyes met those of the withered female lying in her rags. She whimpered, more like an animal and as she glanced sideways at him he saw the tears well up and roll down the gaunt and withered cheeks.

Oh crap! He thought as something snapped inside of him and he realised that if he lived through this he was going to regret his next actions. Impatiently, he waved, summoning the stretcher bearers. Medics! he shouted. Load her up. We’re taking her in.

The TV camera turned towards him but all that he could see was that pathetic creature that resembled illustrations of the suffering souls from Dante’s inferno. The blond UN girl breathed a ragged sigh and whispered, Thank God! She moved over to the patient.

There is no fucking God in this good for nothing disaster of an excuse for a country! he roared.

The chief’s emissary muttered indignantly in his African tongue and unslung his AK 47 pointing it at the woman on the ground. Without thinking he whipped his pistol out and cocked it pointing it to the man. Don’t you dare! he hissed.

Suddenly the emissary swung the AK around towards him pulling the trigger. A hail of bullets erupted and the blond UN girl fell to the ground as he dropped to one knee and fired several rounds at the man. The AK clattered to the ground followed by its owner, who now had two bloody holes in his shirt and chest.

For a long second nothing happened except for the TV crew who scurried about filming the action. Then all chaos broke out as the local troops fearing for the worst opened fire on them. His shoulder stung and blood poured out of it but he dived to the ground next to the injured girl and fired towards the soldiers.

His own men were scrambling from their vehicle and already they had begun firing back as the radio operator frantically yelled over the radio. Quickly he changed the magazine of his pistol.

While you cover us, I’ll get this woman to the vehicle, he barked. Then he rolled over to toss the blond up and over his shoulder. The pain made him stumble to the ground as a hail of fresh bullets cracked past. The fall had saved his life he realised, and then he saw the cameraman collapse.

Christ, this has turned out worse than I thought!

The thought hammered through his brain. Firing a few shots in the direction of the hostile troops he again hoisted the blond UN girl over his shoulder. Move, move, move! He gestured with his pistol to the others and they ran with the stretcher towards the vehicles. The TV announcer was frozen on the ground, her face white and her eyes glazed with sheer terror. As best he could, he reached down and pulled her by her blouse and for an instant it looked like she thought he was going to shoot her, but then as he pulled her up and her blouse tore open she realised that he was actually trying to help her.

Momentarily he caught a glimpse of her pale rounded breasts and then they were running. He grinned inwardly as he thought of her.

Even if I go to hell one day I’ll still be distracted by pretty women and booze!

His troops delivered a volley of fire to keep the enemy down as they ran and the stretcher bearers reached the vehicles first. Then they had all collapsed down behind the Buffel, (An Infantry carrying vehicle developed in South Africa and used by forces all over the world due to its reliability.) The medics carefully pushed the stretcher with its grim occupant onto its floor and he gently lowered the pretty blond girl after it. She was only slightly wounded and she smiled at him.

Come, come, he shouted to the TV reporter. Get in! Then he barked, Medic drive this lot away to the base, we’ll give you cover. He grabbed the reporter by her waist and plonked her next to the blond. Her face was still white and her black hair was badly tousled, but she grinned naughtily when she saw his eyes resting on her exposed cleavage.

For a minute he froze as their eyes met and then the urgency of the situation burnt into him and he turned and raced away to join his men as the vehicle pulled away, it’s tyres spinning in the loose dust as it struggled to gain speed. Panting heavily he dived for cover as dust flew up and bullets cracked around d him. Glancing around, he noticed that there were two men down so he grabbed one of the rifles and took cover.

Around him it was chaos and dust and smoke swirled blocking his vision but he fired a shot into the dust anyway.

Fuck! I can’t let these guys think a Colonel can’t be a soldier.

As he fired another shot he heard the familiar thump of a mortar firing.

Oh Christ, This lot really want a war!

A deafening explosion shattered the air and then the speeding Buffel rolled over and slid in the sand. The mortar shell had just missed it, landing by its front left wheel and the force of the explosion had tossed it over.

More bullets cracked around them and he fired at some troops scrambling around a hill trying to outflank them. Although he continued firing and changing magazines, he was numb with shock as his sweat froze against his face. Their situation was hopeless and as another mortar went off, fortunately fairly far off target, he seriously considered surrendering.

It may save some lives here but then when would he ever see Lana again? She would be devastated if he became a captive, especially after the last incident.

Another mortar exploded showering them with dust and his heart sunk. The sound of a heavy machine gun rattled through the air and despair engulfed him. He felt tears in his eyes and the image of Lana burnt in his brain. Clutching the rifle he started to roll over to the section leader to tell him to surrender when he heard the chopping sound of the helicopters from overhead.

He couldn’t believe it as they raced through the sky circling around like prehistoric predators to deliver devastating fire on the rebel troops. For a minute he couldn’t actually absorb what was happening, and then he stared in stupefied relief as the rebels realising now that they were outgunned threw down their weapons and ran over to them holding their arms in the air. Frozen, he clutched the rifle and breathed a prayer of thanks to whatever gods still considered it worthwhile to still look after the affairs of humanity especially those in Africa.

Dust and black smoke hung in the air and there was that characteristic smell of cordite and diesel. Shocked and haggard faces stared back at him as he moved over to steady himself against the overturned vehicle. Then he felt himself start to shake and he covered his face as he bent forward.

Unable to help himself he reached into his side pocket to take out his trusty hip flask and with trembling hands, unscrewed the lid. Nobody in the vehicle had been injured, miraculously, but they were all a bit shaken. The vodka went down smoothly, burning his throat and then a voice spoke out.

I could do with a slug of whatever that is! It was the TV reporter. She looked badly shaken and her blouse was now even more in tatters despite her best efforts. He smiled and his eyes automatically fell to her exposed bust as he handed her the flask. She laughed as she took it but coughed as she gulped the contents. Still she took another swig and then handed it back to him.

You are incorrigible. I’m sure that even if you were in hell you would still have booze and an eye for some poor woman!

That’s what I was thinking when I looked at your beautiful boobs back there when I scooped you up. She blushed a bit, but took the flask again.

What happens now? she asked.

Oh, I suppose I’ll be in the shit because I started this crap when I wanted to save that poor woman. By the way, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Jon Taylor. We haven’t met. He said.

She held out her hand and they shook hands. Natasha Geminsky. And, no Jon, you saved our lives, particularly mine. Whatever happens to you will depend on what the press says, and by the time I’m finished you’ll be even more of a hero than you already are!

He gazed at her. I was shit scared back there and now I just need to get out of this place and get back to Lana. Tears welled in his eyes and he brushed them away, embarrassed.

Don’t be shy Colonel Jon. Everyone should cry. She stepped forward and hugged him. Do you have someone? Is she Lana?

Yes. He smiled. Yes, I shouldn’t, but she is kind of special.

She trembled slightly in his arms and he could feel her soft breasts against his chest.

He couldn’t help himself and he held her tightly, squeezing her body against his.

Why shouldn’t you love her? I think she’s a lucky woman. Her blue eyes looked directly into his.

It’s very complicated, she’s actually a friend but I think you may understand if I explain. Let’s meet at the canteen tonight and I’ll tell you my story, if they don’t lock me up!

She put her arms around his shoulders and said. I’m going back to work on my news release. Believe me they won’t lock you up!

An empty hollowness welled up inside of him and his thoughts jumbled around his brain.

He’d broken UN protocol. He was dead tired and seriously pissed off. What about Lana? They hadn’t seen each other for ages but their letters to each other were scary. Hell she is only a teenager, does she know what she’s doing? He missed her so much.

Natasha rested her head on his shoulder and then seeing the dry blood she gasped.

You’re hurt! He laughed and held her tight, his hand slipping down to her tight rounded thighs.

Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch. I won’t die yet. You owe me a drink tonight. Anyway, if I die now it will be perfect, in your arms and another sip of vodka before I go!

You are terrible! she said. But he could feel the urgency of her touch. He held her and gently stroked her. She shivered and tears ran down her cheek. Holding her up against him he kissed them away. When she seemed better, and then hoping to bring things back to normalcy he said.

Listen I hope I’ll see you tonight.

I promise. I look forward to it, but get someone to look at that scratch.

He grinned, and then she turned away.

High in the sky a vulture called out and the hollow blue sky seemed to swallow its keen cry in its emptiness. He fell against the tyre of the vehicle as he watched Natasha striding away, her hips swinging prettily, and then for a moment she stopped and glanced back at him. Their eyes met and he sensed that same familiar vacant loneliness. Then she turned and walked away.

It was only later that he remembered that she had a Tab in her left hand and he could have sworn that it was on video mode.

Smoke curled up towards the sky and he stood up slowly, gulping the last of his Vodka down. Soldiers and UN workers were running around as the helicopter kicked up choking dust around it as it landed. He walked slowly over to his white Land rover ignoring the commotion around him. Reaching for the door, he swung it open and collapsed into the passenger’s seat. His driver wasn’t there and for a moment he wondered if he hadn’t been wounded or killed in the action. He leaned back and reached into the glove compartment for his emergency flask of Vodka, opened the lid and took another generous swig from it.

Suddenly the thump of someone halting to his left interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see who it was.

Sir, Colonel, they want the rifle back that you borrowed!

It was his driver. Relief surged through him and he smiled.

It’s over there leaning against the back tyre of the Buffel. Go and get it and then take it over to them. Don’t forget to make it safe Philemon!

Yes Sir!

Philemon was one of these comparatively elderly Non-Coms from the old South African National Defence Force. Worth his weight in gold, but like all of them he was getting on in age but because of their service during the old Apartheid, (the old Afrikaans word for separate development of the various races, particularly the Blacks, Indians and virtually any other race that was not European) regime their promotion possibilities were limited. Lance Corporal Mabata had signed up to be with the African United Nations Peace Force for the extra money. Now he watched him march over to the overturned Buffel and reach down to scoop the rifle up and then run over to hand it in.

If I do nothing else in this God forsaken land I must get him promoted to a full Corporal. At least that will give him more pay!

Sitting back in his seat he took out a cigar and soon he was puffing out clouds of acrid smoke. A warm breeze blew into his face and his cigar glowed red. He took another puff and then held it to his nose, sniffing the fumes directly into his lungs. As he relaxed the image of Lana came into his mind and he smiled inwardly. From recent pictures of her he could see that she was now virtually grown up. Her face with the pointed but well-formed chin and high cheekbones and her blue almost purple eyes highlighted by the delicate glasses that she wore. With her dark wavy hair he always imagined that this was how Hypatia must have looked like her back in the days of the Roman Empire and the Great Library of Alexandria which she had run and taught at before being torn apart by brutal Christian mobs furious at her reluctance to adopt any religion, because of her scientific training. Centuries before Johan Kepler had discovered the secrets of the parabolic motions of the planets, as well as the basic ideas of gravity and amazingly enough impinging on Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity.

What would she have accomplished if her life had not been taken away from her at such a young age?

He snorted with disgust as he remembered some of his many collisions with the Church as well as representatives of other formal religions. His cigar smouldered red in the breeze and inhaling deeply he blew a large plume of smoke out. The sound of loud coughing made him turn to see his driver at the door about to get in.

Where to now, Colonel? He asked, his eyes fixed on the smoking cigar.

Jon leaned back. He knew his faithful Corporal hated his smoking. He sighed and replied. Let’s get back to the base asap.

Yes sir.

The smile on his face as he climbed into the vehicles driver’s seat told him that he was also sick of today and just wanted to get away from all of this madness to the relative safety and comforts of the base. Gunning the vehicle to life, he accelerated sharply leaving a brown and billowing cloud of choking dust behind.

They drove in silence, neither of them willing to speak, all the way back.

CHAPTER 2

You fucking idiot! His boss, a Brigadier General, one of the few white ones, shouted at him. I seriously don’t know if I can help you out of this mess. That woman will probably die anyway and you’ll be lucky if they don’t court martial you! he continued.

They were sitting outside on the veranda of the officers bar trying to escape the oppressive heat. The building was an old British Empire construction made out of corrugated iron. It had probably initially been designed as a field hospital. The evening air was slowly starting to cool down a bit as the glowing red sun sunk below a black and jagged horizon. He gazed at his drink and just sighed.

Lying back in his chair he closed his eyes. The sounds of Africa danced around him. Somewhere hyenas were laughing their hideous laugh and a lion roared. High in the sapphire sky overhead the Ibis overhead screeched out their ridiculous cry, Hahkwa, hahkwa.

He was sick and tired of this place and this situation. Maybe a court martial was the only way he’d ever get out of this hell.

Lifting his drink to down the contents he turned to the general. Can I get you a refill?

"That’s another thing. If you could leave that stuff for a while you might also think clearer. It’s killing you, I can see that, but anyway you’re a good soldier and