As promised...
The Brigadier's office was a patchy blend of military austerity, colonial luxury and aristocratic excess. Campaign maps fought for wall space with the mounted heads of various soon-to-be endangered species, whilst on a nearby table, manila envelopes containing reports from the front were piled alongside a cake stand and china tea set. A large, ebony wardrobe - elegantly carved and wider than it was tall - dominated the far wall with the sort of overbearing, self-important grandeur that is generally only found in members of the aristocracy and seriously large, ornate pieces of furniture. Its door was slightly ajar and within, alongside the neatly pressed red jackets with the high collars and shiny gold epaulets, were gleaming white safari suits and severe, black dinner jackets. Overhead, a lone ceiling fan was fighting a valiant, but losing, battle against the intense, sticky heat
(1); it's incessant
whump, whump, whump the only noise in an otherwise silent room.
Dirk Krugar - representative of the Bloemfontein government - was presently cursing that fan and it's feeble efforts to cool the room. A hardy Boer who was used to rugged farm life, Krugar felt utterly out of place in this overly ornate office and even more uncomfortable in the dress suit that the Free State's government had insisted he wear in his dealings with Brigadier Menzies-Campbell. However, the discomfort that the alien surroundings and the penguin suit he wore brought were nothing compared to the unease and pain that the document he carried caused him. A peace offer for the Empire - complete with financial reparations and the surrender of the lands to the north-east of Natal - lands which the Oranje Vrystaat had seized from the Zulus many years before; lands that were bought with the blood of Boers just like him.
Like an irritating mosquito with an insatiable appetite, this peace settlement stung at Krugar's pride. Was it not the Empire that was the aggressor here – claiming a "humanitarian mission" to steamroller the lands of the Transvaal and the Free State? Why should they have to compensate this vast, all-conquering bully when it was they who had been wronged? Moments of reflection like this always bore with them the same, painful answer -
you appease them, Dirk, because the British Empire is all-conquering and vast...
In front of him, seated in a plush Winchester armchair, was Brigadier Menzies-Carmichael. At present he appeared to be ignoring Krugar and was instead concentrating, glassy-eyed, on the smoke rising from the end of the massive, bloated cigar which he was smoking. Eventually the Boer gave a gentle cough that caused the Brigadier to snap himself out of his reverie, refocus his eyes and turn, smiling to face Krugar. He motioned with his hand in that universal gesture meaning "gimmee".
"Right then, let's get this over with, what? That envelope - give it here man and let me see what you unruly farmers are proposing, hmm?"
Stiff-backed and resisting the urge to reach out and slap the pompous Briton, Krugar handed over the envelope and watched as the Brigadier tore it open like an excited child with a birthday card which he knew contained money. With a deft gesture Farquhar dragged the letter free from the shredded envelope, unfolded it and started to read, his eyes darting back and forth as he scanned the page. Occasionally he let out a little snort of indignation or gave a slightly sinister chuckle but eventually he finished reading, crumpled up the letter into a ball and threw it over his shoulder. He leant forward in his chair and scowled, his mood noticeably blackening.
"Do you mean to mock me, Afrikaaner?"
Krugar blanched.
"Brigadier - please be assured that the offer outlined in my government's communication is serious in the extreme. We are offering significant territorial concessions, not to mention paying stiff financial reparations. Believe me when I say there's nothing humourous in that letter's contents."
Farquhar growled.
"Don't play games with me, Boer. That treaty is worth nothing as it stands. You know it and I know it.
He's mad whispered Krugar's inner voice. Dirk was sure it sounded scared.
"I'm not sure I understand. The terms of our surrender are quite clearly outlined. The British Empire stands to gain considerably from the armistice. If you take a look..."
The Brigadier brought his fist down on the arm of his chair with a sharp crack, and when he next spoke his voice had the mad intensity of a brewing storm.
"Where...are...the....pigs?"
Kruger tugged at his collar. Nothing in his briefing had prepared him for this.
"Pigs... Er...what?"
"The pigs - you know what I mean, what? Those pigs you use. Evil little bastards. Sitting in the bush. Sniping at my soldiers. Secretive, covert wee buggers. Shoot you between the eyes soon as oink at you, hmm? Ring any bells?"
"Sir...with respect...I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't play games with me you rebellious farm-dwelling primitive!"; the Brigadier's voice was a frantic, shrill, yell. "You know bloody well what I'm talking about! Your government knows what I'm talking about! And until these attacks by your paramilitary livestock cease there will never be any peace between our people! War is an ugly and evil thing - but when one side starts using dumb animals as assassins the move the conflict to an altogether different level."
The beads of sweat forming on his brow were now noticeable and Krugar cursed himself for it. There was no negotiating with madness like this, but he had to try - if only for the sake of everyone back home.
"Brigadier. I'm not sure what to say. I was sent here with a message - a message of peace and..."
The Brigadier smiled nastily.
"You want to send a message? Do you? Tell you what - you can send your message..." he paused dramatically before yanking the huge lever beside his chair "...to my CROCODILES!"
Krugar had just enough time to stare at the Brigadier in complete and utter disbelief before there was a rumbling of gears and the floor beneath him flipped downwards on massive hinges, sending him flailing and flapping into the dark void beneath the Brigadier's office. As the floor closed shut there was a moment or two of silence, followed by a splash and a scream. Farquhar settled back into his chair, steepled his fingers and smiled slyly.
"Feast on him my pretties", he hissed. "Feast on him."
1. It was so hot that the room's normally active population of mini-beasts were doing the their equivalent of "chillin' by da pool". The family of bloated, greasy flies that normally buzzed around annoyingly, evading even the most fearsome swatting attempts were perched upon the mounted head of a particularly sad looking lion - no doubt waiting for the Brigadier to finish with afternoon tea so that they could descend upon the cake crumbs with gusto - whilst the two spiders whose webs occupied either corner of the room had ceased criticizing the design of each others home and were instead just hanging there, doubtlessly weighing up the pay-off-to-effort of trying to lure the flies into their webs. Brownback Barry - the room's only snake - had slid under the wardrobe - too hot and tired to even bother with his favourite trick of hiding amidst some discarded clothing and frightening the servants that came to collect it with some particularly scary hissing. It was simply too hot to make even their frightened yelpings seem worth the effort.