Prose

It’s five o’clock in the morning and Dino Mahambo is drinking big sips of strong coffee, that his adjutant, Laranja had made for him.  Although it is still biting cold, Mahambo sweats where the group of officers are gather under the sharp lights in his office.
 
Mahambo wipes the sleep from his bloodshot eyes and he notices how KGB Colonel Petrof Petrofski, suppresses yawning with trouble.

”The sniper cannot be a Boer,” is his opinion.  “Or the South Africans would have been here already with bombers and armoured cars.”

”Well comrades then our plans for the day is set.  Does anyone have further questions?”  “I am wondering how the sniper could so suddenly disappear,” one of the Cuban officers wants to know while he is shaking his head.

”It as if he had evaporated, like a type of phantom.   By this time we should have caught him,” Major Laranja remarks while he battles to shake of his superstitions.

”It is clear that we are dealing with a very dangerous and clever man.  I will love to use some of my shock techniques to make him talk when we catch him,” the Russian says in the silence that had followed Laranja’s words.

”There is no doubt that he is shrewd.  We will not let him escape.  Even the local population have got no knowledge of him.  I really want to know where he is hiding,” Mahambo finishes the meeting.

When the other officers leave the office, the KGB Colonel remains with Mahambo.  “Do you want a cigar,” the Russian asks the camp commandant while he holds out the packet of Havana cigars that he had received from one of the Cuban officers.

”Thank you it would be nice,” Mahambo answers and composes the chessboard on his desk.  The Russian plays with white and makes the first move with a knight, while he blows clouds of smoke enjoyable from his lungs.

Mahambo answers the move with his a pawn and there’s a light knock on the closed office door, before the door opens and the chief medical orderly walks in.

It is clear that the man has just got out of his hot bed, when awkwardly gives a salute and starts yawning.  “You have called me, Colonel?”

”How is Brigadier Gololo doing,” Mahambo asks while he feels like striking out at the man to wake him up. 

”Although I have replaced the blood that the Brigadier has lost, it did not really help to improve his condition.  He has got a lot of pain and I had to inject some painkillers early this morning, for him to be able to rest.  He needs the help of a doctor urgently.”

”You are free to go,” the Russian commands after the orderly lingers awkwardly for a few more minutes.  “Thank you comrade Colonel,” he says with relief before he quickly walks out of the office.

”I could have sworn that he had been in the presence of the devil himself, from the fear that I have read from his face,” Mahambo says shaking his head.

Mahambo takes out two glasses from one of the drawers of his desk and pours vodka for both of them and the Russian lifts his glass in a salute.  “Nastarovia," he says and drinks all of the liquid from the glass.  "Salutè," Mahambo answers and feels how the vodka burning him from his mouth down to his stomach.

In silence the two men play on and it is in the middle of the game that Mahambo takes the initiative and with ingenious moves, he catches Petrofski off guard and by the strategic placement of a knight he captures one of the Russian’s towers.

Right through the end game Mahambo exploits his material advantage irreproachably and in a further thirty movements he apprehends the Russian’s king.

”It is now clear to me why they call you the black Mamba, comrade Mahambo,” the Russian remarks while they are pouring some more vodka.

Dino Mahambo remarks in a vulgar way that it’s not the only reason and both men start laughing until there are tears in their eyes.

”You must try our women,” Mahambo says when he pours some more vodka and they start laughing anew and later the Russian shakes his head.

”Let me tell you something comrade.  That orderly of yours almost wetted his pants when he saw me here in the office.  Last year it was his task to keep some of the prisoners that we were interrogating alive at our headquarters in Luanda, as we could find no doctor willing to do the task.”

”It’s totally different to shoot a person in the heat of battle.  Do you not find your work exhausting,” Mahambo asks inquisitive.

For the first time in a while, the sombre Russian smiles.  “What will I say comrade?  Somebody has to do it.   I cannot afford to let it bother me.  Sometimes it’s terrible and sometimes challenging and interesting.  Now look what had happened here in the camp.  I come here to capture a possible spy and find a sniper!”

Mahambo draws his breath in sharply.  “Had a enemy agent active really been active,” he wants to know somewhat worried.  The Russian shakes his head.   “No, I do not think so.  It looks as if the scouts of the enemy are really good.  That’s the reason that the sniper can disappear as if into the naught.   I am convinced that some members of the local population are hiding some scouts, or are aware of at least something.”

”I do not think so.  Our relationship with the local people is extremely good.  They have not caused any difficulty.   Nothing have even been stolen,” Mahambo answers denying.

The Russian smiles again and this time there are quivers of fear running up and down Mahmbo’s spine, while he looks into the devilish face of the Russian and he is certain that death must look like this, if it could be a person.

”Precisely comrade.  Things are going too well with them and the enemy know about all our plans.  It is time that we make them that could know something talk, before it becomes too late.”

”You mean that you want to torture some of those people?  It is unheard off.   I cannot permit this to happen,” Mahambo answers and his dark brown bloodshot eyes burn into those of the Russian.

”Good gracious comrade!   You cannot allow it to happen.  What do we do, if we do not catch of kill this sniper?   He must have a base somewhere, or hide somewhere?   What are we going to say to President Neto and General Sanchez?  Do you know what the price of failing is going to be comrade?”

Mahambo swallows heavily when he reads the expression on the Russian’s face and notices how the Russian draws a finger across his own throat.  “It will not be a easy death either, if we do not get results.  Go and ask that orderly how failing is treated.  It’s either them or us.  We just will have to find that sniper, or punish them that were helping him.  Luanda believe in results comrade.”

”Some more vodka comrade,” Mahambo asks after a while.  The Russian nods his head.  “Yes comrade.  Just one more glass and then we will have to start working.  It is going to be a very long day.”