Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Amazon reviews – they love The Gokwe Kid

So they all scream to me to keep writing. Are they sure? Because the next book is seriously bad news.- It is very serious hard core bad. In fact, some people I shot a few chapters across their bows to check out the P and G said that, quite frankly, they do not like me anymore.

I thought that was rather harsh. I mean, I tell the truth and they are upset with it?. Fucking wimps. Oh yeah, wait…not long now. I ticky-ticky away on the keyboard and the chapters grow. And the best bit…you will hate me at the end. But, before you decide to kill me, I will make you laugh, cry and wonder over a beloved country lost and another I found and loved…strange stories indeed.

You want a bit? Hey! Just a bit hey???

Okay, I tease ya – from a chapter…

Night Raid
 (Somewhere in Rhodesia, early 1970’s)

We knew that the enemy we most dreaded had returned to plague us once again. Year after year, the ever-grinding war of attrition; the same old battle of nerves. We had never really been able to corner them, and end it in a final fire-fight. At most, we could take out a few of their leaders and leave them disorientated for a while, but there was always another to take their place, and the guerrilla war would start afresh.

For most of the year we held the upper hand. Our latest base was comparatively new and our designated area for patrols seemed relatively free of the menace. Daily our small unit pounded the now familiar routes with an ever weary eye open. It was our land and rightfully so and we sculptured it as we liked, because we had made it our home. But they dared to question this with audacity. They remained for the most part unseen and would spook us from a safe distance.
            The rainy season always changed the scenario.  It was almost as if both sides needed respite from the game of hide and seek; a status quo, an unspoken agreement between the antagonists. We hated to slog through soaked grass and the ever increasing quagmire of rich, venial-red mud. Legend has it that Africa’s soil is that colour because of all the blood that has been spilled fighting for it. There would be more blood spilled, but we hoped our superior intelligence and armaments would ensure it would only be their blood that would soak into the ground to blend with their forefathers’ life juices.

The enemy had slinked back into our territory with some primeval instinct, just as the first summer rains finally came to break that smell of parched earth and moisture- starved yellow grass. The incredible majestic force of tropical storms normally kept us in base. Few dared to go outside when Mother Nature decided to throw her weight around, randomly spitting deadly bolts of lightning; killing hundreds each year. I respected and feared that power, for only last year, a colleague of mine had lost his younger brother from one of those jagged strikes. The kid had gathered with some fellow Cub-Scouts from a storm under the overhang of a giant boulder at Balancing Rocks. No one can explain why he was chosen from the group, to be so freakily picked out and struck down, leaving the others standing on either side of him terrified, but unhurt!
            Our adversary knew of our fear, but they seemed impervious to the danger. They even seemed to welcome it! Not far from where we slept in our fortified abode was a small isolated oasis with dense foliage - a perfect hide. They were happy to take time out and reorganise their forces during this time.
            We had used an observation point on the small hill overlooking their recently re-occupied stomping ground, hoping to spot them, but with no success.  Team leader reckoned that we would get some tonight. The Old Man, as he was better known by, was frustrated with the previous failures. The whole thing was getting on his nerves, and he was starting to take it personally. That morning he had approached me.
            “I have a job to do, but I will be back about 6.00 p.m. The weather report is for a big storm about that time. I will try and nail their leader then. Get everything ready, I am taking you with me on this one.”
            I felt honoured, as I was still in my teens. Any thoughts of ice cold, premeditated murder never entered my head. We had a job to do.


Anonymous said...

Very interesting, I look forward for more....

Anonymous said...

This black text on dark grey background is intensely tiring to read.