Expedition to the Mountains of the Moon (Burton & Swinburne) Read Free Page A

improving, and the ophthalmia has cleared up. I was halfblind when I regained consciousness in the hospital. That confounded ailment has plagued me on and off ever since India.”
    “You were in India?”
    Baker frowned and rubbed his chin. “I don't know. That just popped into my head. Yes, I feel I may have been.”
    “India, by crikey! You should have stayed there. It might turn out to be the last bastion of civilisation on the whole bloody planet! Is that where you joined the Corps?”
    “I suppose so.”
    There came a distant boom, then another, and another. The ground shook. The journalist glanced at the ceiling.
    “Artillery. Peashooters. Firing from the outskirts of Dar es Salaam.”
    Baker muttered to himself, “Derived from bandar es-salaam , I should think. Ironic. It means harbour of peace.” Aloud, he said: “The landscape and climate feel familiar to me. Are we south of Zanzibar? Is there a village in the area called Mzizima?”
    “Hah! Mzizima and Dar es Salaam are one and the same, Baker! Incredible, isn't it, that the death of the British Empire had its origins in such an insignificant little place, and now we're back here.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It's generally believed that this is where the Great War began. Have you forgotten even that?”
    “Yes, I fear I have. It began in Mzizima? How is that possible? As you say, it's an insignificant little place!”
    “So you recall what Dar es Salaam used to be, at least?”
    “I remember that it was once nothing more than a huddle of beehive huts.”
    “Quite so. But that huddle was visited by a group of German surveyors a little over fifty years ago. No one knows why they came, or what occurred, but for some reason, fighting broke out between them and Al-Manat.”
    “The pre-Islamic goddess of fate?”
    “Is she, by gum! Not the same one, old chap. Al-Manat was the leader of a band of female guerrilla fighters. It's rumoured she was British but her true identity is shrouded in mystery. She's one of history's great enigmas. Anyway, the fighting escalated, Britain and Germany both sent more troops here, and Mzizima became the German East Africa Company's stronghold. The Schutztruppe —the Protection Force—formed there some forty years ago and rapidly expanded the settlement. It was renamed Dar es Salaam and the place has been thriving ever since. A situation our lads will reverse this weekend.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, my friend, that on Saturday, HMA Pegasus and HMA Astraea are going to bomb the city to smithereens.”
    More explosions thumped outside. They were increasing in frequency. Everything shook. Baker glanced around nervously.
    “Green peas,” his companion noted.
    “You can tell just from the noise?”
    “Yes. Straightforward impact strikes, like big cannonballs. The yellow variety explode when they hit and send poisonous shrapnel flying everywhere. They annihilated millions of our lads in Europe, but, fortunately, the plants don't thrive in Africa.”
    Baker's fingers were gripping the edge of the table. The other man noticed, and reassured him: “We'll be all right. They take an age to get the range. Plus, of course, we're noncombatants, which means we're permitted to shelter in here, unlike the enlisted men. We'll be safe unless one of the blighters lands right on top of us, and the chances of that happening are very slim indeed.”
    He got the kettle going and they sat wordlessly, listening to the barrage until the water boiled, then he spooned tea leaves into a metal pot and grumbled, “Rations are low.”
    Baker noticed that his companion kept glancing back at him. He felt an inexplicable urge to duck out of the light, but there was no refuge from it. He looked on helplessly as the other man's face suddenly displayed a range of emotions in sequence: curiosity, perplexity, realisation, incredulity, shock.
    The smaller man remained silent until the tea had brewed, then filled two tin mugs, added milk and