Kobus grunted and turned over another body with his foot. This one couldn’t be more than fifteen, Jan thought. For a second he saw the eyes flicker. The boy had been lying very still, feigning death. Jan deliberately turned away, but his cousin had seen the movement too. He lifted his rifle and put the barrel to the boy’s forehead. For a second the youngster’s eyes opened wide with terror and mute appeal. Then Jan saw a scarlet cloud of blood and bone and brain tissue, spattered over the dusty ground. Kobus laughed, wiping the gun on his khaki trousers.

‘Christ, man, he was just a kid!’ Jan protested, sickened at the casual dispatch.

‘One less to grow up a terrorist, heh? Stinking tsotsis!.’ Kobus turned away and walked over to join his companions. They broke out rations and began to eat, sitting alongside the dead, unmoved by their presence and the sight of vultures circling overhead. Jan felt the old nightmares descending on him, and he took out his flask and drained it. They left the bodies where they lay. A warning to others, Kobus said. It was a long trek home, and darkness had fallen when Jan stumbled into the house. Lottie was sitting at the dining table, the remains of her half-finished dinner before her.

‘What happened?’ she said.

‘Another successful operation,’ he muttered, going straight past her to the sideboard and pouring himself a drink.

Lottie stood up abruptly. ‘Your dinner is probably ruined. But I don’t suppose you’ll notice that.’

He turned to look at her with bleary eyes. ‘It’s not my choice, you know, to spend hours out there in the bush, tracking down munts. They killed old Maartens and his wife. Someone has to stop them.’