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"Move," the General ground out, pulling at her arm, and she followed him like a sleepwalker, her bare feet dragging in the dust.

The soldiers had managed to turn the jeep on one side. The body of the driver was lying where the General had shot him. One of his legs had been broken in the crash, and a jagged edge of white bone poked through skin and cloth. The soldiers were dragging bundles out from the back of the jeep and ripping them open.

"Only household items, sir." The sergeant, Friday, had just broken open a cheap suitcase. He looked up at the General, the slanted tribal scars on his cheeks like lightning flashes, and held up a yellow shirt. "Clothes, pots, a sack of cassava. Nothing else."

"Any papers?"

"Nothing," Friday said, shaking his head. "Not even a driving licence." He pointed to the corpse, whose pockets had, the General saw, been turned inside out. "We looked."

"Huh." The General shook the young woman, who had been looking dully down at the body. "Come on," he snarled, and tugged at her arm. "Come up to the truck."

"What do we do with all this, sir?" Friday asked.

"Take what you want," the General said over his shoulder, "and burn the rest."

On the way back to the town, the General held the woman between him and Shona, the revolver pressed against her side. The back of the truck was crammed with what the men had taken from the jeep. Sergeant Friday wore the yellow shirt he had taken from the suitcase, and one of the other men had on a bonnet he had found in one of the bundles. It was squashed and misshapen and had a design of pink flowers on a blue background, but he did not look ridiculous wearing it. He just looked insane and very frightening.

"Drop us at my house," the General said to Shona, "and you can have the rest of the day off."

The driver grinned, showing his strong yellow teeth.

The woman’s name was Wamka. She sat on the floor, looking her feet, as the General snapped questions at her in Kudu, which was close enough to her Sambar that she could half understand what he was saying. The driver, she said, had been her husband. They were very recently married, and had been trying to go away.

"Go away?" Putting the barrel of his revolver beneath her chin, the General tipped back Wamka’s head, until she was forced to look up into his eyes. "Go away where?"

"To safety. Where it is safe."

"It is safe with us, with the army of the Karibu Empire," the General said. "You were trying to escape to the enemy in Keke, isn’t that so?" He watched to see if she understood, but her eyes remained blank. "You know what we do to enemies?" he said, putting down the revolver, and her head fell forward again, on to her chest. "Answer me!" he said, dragging her head back by the hair. "You know what we do to enemies?"

"I...do not understand."

"Never mind." The General let go of her hair. "Just understand this – as long as you do what I tell you to, you’ll be all right. Do you understand that?"

Slowly, doubtfully, she nodded.

"Good," he said. "Now come here."

That was the first time he raped her, taking her with a force that almost terrified him, exulting in her little cries as he thrust into her. Later, he lay beside her, the gun in his hand, and finally felt the last of the tension drain away. He felt wonderful, he felt like god. He could do anything in the world at all.

Later still, as the evening darkened the windows, he raped her again.

The General woke to thunder. Rain crashed down outside, so hard that the walls vibrated. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the inside of the room. He turned his head, seeking, but he couldn’t find Wamka. Still naked, he rolled quickly out of bed, turning on the little battery powered emergency lamp. Holding his revolver in the other hand, he turned its cold white glow around the room, seeking. He bent and peered under the bed, but she wasn’t there, either.

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