Chapter 2

NIGHT ATTACKS

Colonel Melt Fleerackers, head of the police in the Belgian Congo, blows the blue cigar smoke in front of him, while he looks at the muscular jungle giant in front of him with undisguised admiration. He has never seen such symmetrical muscles and such a beautiful physique on any man in his many wanderings across the world.

He immediately likes the young man in front of him, with his youthful appearance that testifies to zest for life and stored energy. The strong, attractive face, those bright piercing eyes, and the shiny blonde hair tied in his neck with a pigskin thong.

The Jungle Hawk, who is sitting in a soft armchair in the luxurious office of the police chief, an office that feels wonderfully cool amidst the tropical heat that prevails outside, feels slightly uncomfortable here between the four walls.

His whole being longs for the freedom of the jungle that he loves. The cheerful babbling of the forest apes, the stealthy tread of the leopard, the roar of the powerful maned lion, the trumpeting of the forest elephant, the shiny backs of the hippos, which can bite a rickety native boat in half with one bite.

On one side sits Sergeant Popma. Together with him, the Jungle Hawk and the company of South Africans traveled by seaplane to Leopoldstad, from the Congo River. From here, they will travel by rail, by boat, and overland to Banana, on the Atlantic Ocean, from where they will then return to South Africa.

Colonel Fleerackers coughs, presses the cigar into the ashtray on the shiny desk, and says. “As we have already explained to you, evil is brewing in the Congo Basin. You will have to find out what it involves exactly for us. It is a task that will require a lot and may possibly mean your death. However, you are the only person who can help us. That is why we are so glad that you have agreed...”

Colonel Fleerackers opens a drawer and takes out Lieutenant Pierre France’s code book. “According to the secret code information of Lieutenant France, somewhere in the Congo Basin there is a training place where members of one of the most feared underground sabotage and espionage organizations in the world are training natives in violence. The organization is known as the Octopus.

“Lieutenant France was captured six months ago by members of the organization after he was hot on their trail. He was blindfolded, transported by plane to a place somewhere in the Congo Basin that is called the Hammer by the Octopus organization. It makes up one of the many rugged mountain ranges in the area in question. Unfortunately, he could not indicate to us exactly where the place is located. You will also have to determine that for yourself. However, we have a suspicion that it may be somewhere here,” he points to a map on the wall.

A car roars past under the window. Further away, the call of one of the tame elephants, which is used to pull heavy loads, can be heard.

“As you can see for yourself, these areas are surrounded by vast swamps and some of the densest forests in the entire Belgian Congo. They even claim that animals are found in the area that have never been seen by a human eye, except perhaps by the pygmies. No white foot has yet entered the world...”

The Hawk, a lover of the strange and impassable parts of the world, has his interest in the enterprise increase by the second.

“We will transport you by seaplane to here tomorrow, at this tributary of the Congo. From there, you will have to go further by yourself. If you locate the place of evil, you can go to Kaanga. It lies here.”

He points to the map again. “From there you can contact us by radio. The police there have radio connections with us.”

The full moon bulges high above the tropics. Thin clouds move past the night watch briefly, and plunge the Congo forest into inky black darkness. The Congo forest where the night animals are now king, while the day animals, sleepy but ever watchful, try to sleep after a day’s bustle.

In Leopoldstad, capital of this part of the Belgian Congo, every inhabitant is now wide awake. Whites walk around in groups, some have gone to look for the entertainment venues, others are again lamenting their fate in the engulfing heat of the tropics behind the bar counters.

Few non-whites are visible in the streets, except those who are in the service of the whites. Strict curfew regulations are still in place, after the riots a week ago, in which two whites were killed and ten injured.

Armed police and small groups of soldiers, with rapid-fire rifles, patrol the dark streets. On the wings of the evening wind, which is slightly cool tonight and blows from the sea side, the monotonous tom-tom-tom of the native drums is carried.

The Jungle Hawk is walking in one of the streets. Alongside him is Lena Landman, at whose request the walk is being undertaken. Ostensibly, it was to go and look at the shop windows, but actually, the motive is to be alone with the Jungle Man on this last night.

Lena’s blue eyes are particularly bright tonight. In her heart is a strange, inexplicable loneliness.

“Deon.” The Hawk looks down at the slender girl here next to him. “Yes, Lena?”

“You have never... never considered... how shall I put it... you know, returning to your fatherland?”

In the light of a shop window, the Hawk’s strong teeth gleam as he smiles.

“I haven’t thought about it yet. But maybe, someday, I’ll go look again. Maybe go and look for family if they still know me...”

“But, Deon. This is no place for you. Just forests. Temperatures that make you anxious. Rain, tons of it. Diseases. Malaria, fever, plague, just everything. And the barbarians and animals. No human can last long here.” Her eyes are pleading at the Hawk. For the first time, he notices that she is truly beautiful. Or is it perhaps because something in his big chest has been stirred by her pleading tone?

Long-suppressed longing, perhaps? A longing because there is someone of his kind, somewhere, who cares for him...? Does she care?

This question, strange to the man who has never thought about a woman for himself, disturbs him slightly.

A giggling couple walks past them and looks at the half-naked man in surprise. When the girl stops to look at the strange being with his hunting knife and leopard skin clothing with open admiration, her boyfriend pulls her by the arm, the giggle suddenly gone, and snaps something in French.

Lena, dressed in a light dress, which lends her slender figure even greater feminine beauty, waits anxiously for the Hawk’s answer. Finally, it comes.

“It’s not easy to answer you, Lena. It’s just that I love this world. Here my parents sacrificed their lives. Here they lie buried. Here I have many friends. Here are the animals, the birds, freedom. Here are no borders. How shall I put it... I’m just happy here, in the world that others describe as barbaric, dangerous, and no place for the white man...”

Silently, they walk on for a little while. The brightly lit shop windows and the flickering neon lights, symbols of a piece of Europe in the tropics, are now behind them. Somewhere ahead of them lies the mighty Congo River, the largest river in Africa and the second largest in the world.

Lena sighs, hooks her arm in the Hawk’s and revels in his nearness. However, in her heart is a great emptiness as she says,

“And tomorrow you leave in search of... of this Octopus thing. And we may never see each other again...” Tears suddenly well up in her eyelids. She looks away quickly, but the sharp eyes of the Hawk have already noticed the brightness in the uncertain light of the full moon.

“Maybe I’ll visit you in South Africa one day.” Lena perks up so suddenly that the Hawk stops in some surprise. In situations like this, he feels like a fool, as that young boy in his distant homeland always said. What’s wrong with the woman tonight? He chews on this question without finding the answer.

“Will you really... really come visit us, Deon? Oh, Deon, I think that’s wonderful.” Suddenly she bursts out laughing. “What are you laughing about now?” asks the Hawk, lost.

“Oh, Deon, I’m just thinking how funny... how funny it will be to see you in a black suit on a dance floor...” The tears are now really rolling as she laughs.

And at that moment, while the Hawk’s vigilance is completely relaxed, four dark figures, armed with knives, pounce on the two.

As the Hawk turns to meet the attackers, it sounds to him as if the drums from the native settlements are making a louder and wilder noise than earlier in the evening.

On one side, Lena has let out a long scream before a dark figure grabs her around the body and throws her to the ground. Like a roaring lion, the Hawk is on the dark figure. Knives glint in the uncertain light. The figure groans and collapses. Like a hurricane, the other three storm towards the Hawk. As agile as a wild buck, he slips past the first one, hits the second with a punch to the chest that leaves him gasping on the ground.

However, the third dark figure’s knife glints ominously at the Hawk. The Jungle Man jerks his body to one side, feels the razor-sharp blade graze his shoulder. Then he is on the man, twists his wrist, the knife clatters on a stone, something clicks under the Hawk’s grip. A terrible cry of pain rises into the night air as the man with a broken wrist collapses on the ground.

As the Hawk turns, he is just in time to see two of the attackers disappear into the dark. The other two lie groaning and gasping on the ground, one with a broken wrist and the other with two broken ribs where the Hawk’s...