Inside the classroom were some of William’s close friends: Mace Hertzog on the front desk of the first row where the teacher could keep a close eye on the spirited ginger-haired boy.  In the row closest to the windows were Les Vorster and Alfred Milner—buddies and chums. 

Three hours later Will Kaiser and a quarter of the Afrikaans-speaking boys from his school were on the outskirts of the African bush, playing around and suspended from ironwood trees and shrubbery.  And they all seemed hyper with anxiousness by the bewildering idea Will was proposing to them.

“We could hike into the bush, throw pears at the tribal woman when they come down to the orange river for water.”

To this army of bored boys, this idea was appealing.  So the Dutch youths slung their pear-filled backpacks over their shoulders and traversed through the African bush towards a small village in the nation of Thabazimbi. 

Thabazimbi is an independent republic of South Africa located at the conversion point of Botswana, Great Namaland, and British Betchuanaland.  The country itself has an extremely heterogeneous population made up of several language and culture groups.  The dominant ethnic groups are the Christianized Zimbi and the Moslem Bantu.  Both groups share the savanna lands with agricultural peoples from various smaller tribes.  Most foods for domestic use--maize, cassava, bananas, yams--are grown within the country.  Peanuts and palm-oil products are important export crops.  Other exports include kola nuts, cotton, tobacco, hides and skins.  Secondary industries include food processing and soft drinks.

The Dutch schoolboy ran into the village and immediately began assaulting the peaceful inhabitants with thrown pears.  And they continued to persecute these villagers until the tribal warriors arrived.  The warriors, upon seeing that the attacking tribe was comprised of white Afrikaner schoolboys, had two choices: either they spear the Afrikaans-speaking youths to death, or they find a more humane way of incapacitating them. 

They opted for the second choice.  And they decided to incapacitate the youths with use of equipment the tribal elders had purchased from the British to use against the ever-encroaching Dutch Afrikaans.  Only one warrior would be needed to implement this weapon, so only one warrior stepped forward to confront the attacking army of young Dutch Afrikaner schoolboys.

And this weapon, which was clipped to the belt of Ogbanje Soyinka (leader of the Zimbi tribal warriors), was the size of a pack of cigarettes.  It was known as an IPG, or invisible pain-field generator, and it produced modulated ultrasonic sound of a frequency that caused intense pain in the person toward which it was aimed.

The Dutch Afrikaner schoolboys, being more tenacious than most Anglo South African youths, gave it a game try in their attempt to attack the Zimbi warrior.  After their initial disorientation they lunged for Ogbanje.  But the closer they got to the IPG, the more unbearable the pain became.

Still they tried to get at the Zimbi Captain.  But with each attack they were further weakened by the pain until they lay writhing at the edge of the ilo (courtyard), unable to muster the energy to go on. 

Ogbanje kept the unit trained on them until the horde of youths finally lost consciousness from the pain.  it took longer than he would have thought.  They were unusually tough Dutch boys.  But once out, they wouldn't come to for an hour. 

When he was satisfied, he moved away from the neutralized Afrikaner schoolboys, keeping the IPG handy.

***

All the boys were hoisted over the shoulder of the warrior and carried fully into the ilo courtyard in the center of the village.  There they were laid out upon mats . . .mats with two stakes positioned at their heads and foot. The unconscious Dutch Afrikaner schoolboys’ hands were lifted above their heads and secured very tightly to posts with reed-woven thongs.  They slowly began to regain consciousness as their shoes and socks were removed, and their ankles were secured to each of the bottom posts.

Two Zimbi warriors sat down there on the ground in front of the boys’ young bare soles and took a good look at their slender, helpless bare feet. But first the lads were stretched and tickled on their ribs to the point of psychosis, the feather-armed warriors teasing them unmercifully all the while.

One Zimbi had the toes of Les Vorster’s left foot gripped firmly in his hand, slowly bending them backward. Les, completely conscious and completely aware of what was about to happen, began to struggle frantically against his bonds. But to no avail.

The warriors began to slowly and lightly drag an ostrich feather down all the boy’ soles from their toes to their heels, reversing course and slowly drawing it back up to the top again. They repeated this over and over. Cries of helpless laughter erupted from the captive Afrikaner schoolboys as the Zimbis continued their assiduous feather-trek up and down their bare soles. The warriors eventually began to lightly trace circles inside the Dutchboys’ arches, over and over, around and around and around until each boy lost consciousness again.

***

Once they again regained consciousness, the captive Afrikaner schoolboys (eighteen years old and younger) were roped together--securely but not cruelly--and made to march their way towards the village prison camp (designed to house spirited young male offenders) called Boypad S.  They were kept barefoot, having had their shoes and socks taken by members of the Zimbi army as a deterrent for escape.  But the walk to the camp was not really a problem, for Thabazimbi City had soft grasses planted everywhere.  And where there wasn't grass there was a smooth cobblestone path that, in spite of the day's heat, felt cool to their bare soles.

"The virgin bush area beyond the camp is much rougher terrain."  One of their African captors had told them nonchalantly, but with a tone of omninity.  "If you manage to somehow escape Boypad S and venture into it without footwear, I guarantee that you shall perish with your feet shredded all the way up to your ankles."            

Eventually they were all herded into the prison camp.  Boypad S was a cluster of mud huts with thatched grass roofs that looked rather primitive from afar.  Ambling around the fenced-in area aimlessly, many of the boys wondered if flesh-eating, spear-chucking cannibals might emerge from these huts at any moment to devour the lot of them.

Will Kaiser, an eighteen-year-old with a pug nose and sun-bleached hair, assured his fellow young Milner that cannibalism in Africa was a myth.  Though it was true that shrinking heads was still practiced in very remote areas, there weren't--and never had been--any people-eaters on the dark continent.            

This lad Will was the natural ringleader of the toughest Afrikaner schoolboys.  Even though he wasn't the largest youth, he was the undisputed big wheel.  He possessed light-blond hair and a fine face--a face that was Aryanly handsome in spite of the cruelty etched into it.  Most boys of his stature had problems with the larger ones tormenting them, but not William Kaiser.  He ruled over all the Afrikaner schoolboys and was ready to toss down the gauntlet of battle against anyone, and at any time. 

But there was another youth within the prison camp who considered himself to be of eminence.    

Alfred Milner was physically the largest of the boys, but still he seemed to defer his position of power to Will.  No one had any problems with this until Adankwo Owerri—an African Zimbi lad--managed to sneak into the camp in order to get a better look at the famed  "Dutch Afrikaner schoolboys".

Clearly there was no malicious intent in pensive Adankwo's mind when he arrived--he merely saw Boypad S as a source for new potential playmates.  You see, Adankwo Owerri was a page within the palace, and had been practically since he was a toddler.  This being the case, he never had the opportunity to develop strong friendships with the other Zimbi children.  And many of these other African youths resented him--envied his place as a member of the royal staff.  So the pensive lad presented overtures of friendship to any Thabazimbi newcomer who was within his age province.  This reason, and this reason alone, was why he had decided to sneak into the prison camp.

Affable Adankwo immediately attempted to strike up a friendship with the young Dutch Afrikaner schoolboys, but it was really a hopeless endeavor from the start.  Most of the boys were scared out of their wits, wondering what fate had in store for them.  One of the Thabazimbi soldiers had assured these lads that they would not be harmed, but the Afrikaner schoolboys were still wary.  And the youths who weren't too concerned for their own safety were understandably resentful of the fact that they were presently imprisoned.  These were the foremost reasons why Adankwo would find no friends within Boypad S.  Other reasons included the fact that Adankwo was a black African, and fraternizing with the likes of him went against everything these fanatical Dutch Afrikaner schoolboys had been taught since birth.

Alfred Milner especially didn't like Adankwo.  And eventually he decided that--by harassing the African lad--he could kill two birds with one stone.  First, he could take out this dark-skinned little beast . . . for no reason beyond the fact that Adankwo was a native African.  Second, he could prove to the other schoolboy that--by besting this well-built nappy headed little demon--he was also deserving of their respect and admiration.

You see, Alfred Milner was getting fed up with letting a "little prick" like Will Kaiser call all of the shots.  So he decided to display his strength and valor to his other young comrades by personally taking down an adversary.  Not Will Kaiser, but rather young Adankwo Owerri who looked like a tougher opponent to beat. 

So the irate youth went right to work--shoving the African boy in his bare chest and demanding that they do battle. 

Adankwo looked hurt and confused by the larger boy's attitude.  He even tried to walk away.  But Alfred took him by the arm and harshly wheeled him around--telling the pensive lad that he simply wouldn't be allowed to leave the camp until after a fight between them had taken place.  Many of the other Afrikaner schoolboys stood behind Alfred to give teeth to the irate youth's proclamation. 

So Adankwo merely stepped back a bit and put up his fists.

Alfred bared his teeth and rushed at the pensive lad.  He tried to use both hands to shove Adankwo in the chest again, but the African boy deftly caught his wrists and turned them outward with all his might.  Alfred screamed like a girl.  Tears poured from his eyes and his pale hands were flopping about like a sissy's because both of his wrists were now broken.  You see, the irate youth could not have known that Adankwo had basically been reared within the royal palace--could not have known that the pensive lad had been taught the arts of hand-to-hand combat by the best warriors in the Thabazimbi army.  And, needless to say, Adankwo Owerri was a LOT stronger than he looked.

The other Afrikaner schoolboys gazed at their humiliated companion in wonder.  Alfred collapsed to the ground, still screaming and with his hands still flopping.                    

 Young Adankwo looked as if he might vomit--as if his own actions had sickened him.  "I only meant to keep him from hurting me."

"No you didn't!"  Will Kaiser accused.  "I saw you planning your moves before you and Alfred started fighting.  You twisted his wrists with all your might on purpose . . . you meant to hurt him that bad."

And Adankwo lowered his head--subsequently admitting to everyone that Will's words were true.  The African boy may not have wanted to fight, but the damage he'd inflicted during the battle had been deliberate.  This, perhaps, was why he seemed so disgusted with himself.

The other young Dutchboys had turned away from Will and the pensive boy as two Thabazimbi guards rushed over to where the battle had occurred.  In seconds they had the injured Alfred stretched upon the ground and were examining him.  The diagnosis revealed what every witness to the fight had already known--the irate lad's wrists were broken.  One of the soldiers rushed away for a few moments, but he speedily returned with a heavy bag made of animal skins.       

In seconds he extracted what appeared to be smelling salts . . . but these particular smelling salts seemed to produce the opposite effects of the kind that most people were used to.  He placed the broken capsule up to the injured boy's nose and ordered him to inhale deeply.  Alfred obeyed, and in a moment his eyelids drooped, then closed.  Once the warrior was certain that the boy was deeply asleep, he set Alfred's broken bones in splints, then carried him to a mud which served as a clinic of sorts. 

Also, seven of the Dutch Afrikaner schoolboys were taken away (kicking and screaming) for a reason their fellow classmates couldn’t fathom.

Adankwo was verbally chastised by the other Zimbi warrior and ordered out of the area.  The pensive African boy, with his head bowed in shame, trudged away from the prison camp.  The crowd of Dutch boys that he passed through fearfully backed away from him--as if afraid that he might strike out again at any moment.

***

By nightfall, the boys were all under the shelter of the largest mud hut--sprawled upon the ground in various postures as they tried desperately to sleep.  eighteen-year-old Will Kaiser was lying on a straw mat with his palms flat under his blonde head.  He was staring up at the roof of the hut in deep thought.

"N-no . . . no . . . "  Les Vorster, who was stretched out a few feet away, mumbled in his sleep and rolled over without ever awakening.

Will shook his head at the sight.  He could hear the other boys drifting into slumber to the left, right, front and back of him--could almost sense their conscious minds shutting down like switched-off air conditioners.  Besides the snores of the other Afrikaner schoolboys, he was also surrounded by the wild, distant night sounds of Africa--cacophonous birds and insects and various wailing mammals.   This clamor was jumbled together with the noise of his sleeping peers who shifted uncomfortably upon their straw mats.

Emenike, one of their Zimbi guards, had tied a length of rope from the sleeping Les' ankle to the ankle of another young Afrikaner named Alfred Milner. This was done because a concerned Alfred had informed the guard of his friend Les' penchant for sleepwalking.   

After Emenike departed, Will spent a few more minutes of listening to the even breathing of the slumbering boys stretched out around him, then he turned his body to the right so that he was lying on his side.  "Mace?  Hey, Mace are you awake?"

"Yeah," said the voice of another eighteen-year-old who was sprawled about six feet away from Will.  "What's wrong?"

Mason "Mace" Hertzog was a somewhat stolid boy with red hair, a round face, a dimpled chin and a pug nose.  This normally jovial lad also had merry green eyes and a fair complexion with a spattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

But his friend's amiable features weren't visible then, for Mace--like all the others--was currently lying supine on one of the straw mats which decorated the dirt floor of the hut.  Only the bare soles of this freckled youth's feet were visible to Will.    

"I was just wondering what the others—the ones who were taken away—are doing right now."

"Probably just what we're doing."  said Mace.  "I figure the kaffirs (niggers) got them in a camp like this one, and they're using us as hostages so we won't try anything."

"What do you think these bastards are going to do to us?"  Will asked, more or less addressing Mace's soles.  He thought that his friend's feet looked pinched white and tinted slightly blue from the cold.  No, it must have been an illusion brought about by the fact that his own bare feet were freezing.  The black devils could have at least allowed them to keep their socks!   

Will, who secretly loved feet, couldn’t help but to notice that the entire hut smelled of his and his classmate’s feet.  It was unreal.

Earlier that night—in the darkness and while his friend was still fast asleep—Will had scooted closer to Mace’s feet. He took a good whiff of his friend’s bare soles. Then boldly, but very gently, proceeded to kiss the pad of his foot as well as the tips of his toes!  His lips roamed all over Mace Hertzog’s bare feet. Will kissed his soles and his heels . . . always checking at regular intervals to see if Mace or any of the others were showing signs of awakening.  Realizing that his friend was an incredibly heavy sleeper, Will Kaiser took hold of the top of Mace’s foot and press the sleeping lad’s toes to his hungry lips!  Will carefully licked Mace’s soles, allowing his tongue to trek up and down and back and forth across the bottoms of his friend’s bare feet!

"I don’t know, my friend.”  Mace said, the sound of his voice snapping Will out of his pleasant daydream.

Just then, one of the warrior guards entered into the hut carrying Alfred Milner who had been taken away to the clinic with two broken wrists several hours earlier.  Roguish Will was distressed by the sight of the older boy's limp body and dangling limbs.

"Is he okay?"  he asked, sitting up.

The Warrior just stared at him with a somewhat guilty expression, Alfred's motionless body still in his brawny arms.  The irate youth appeared to be deeply asleep--clearly doped-up with painkillers--and both of his injured wrists were heavily swathed in splints and bandages.           

"Is he okay?"  Will repeated.

The warrior cleared his throat and said, "He shall be fine.  But one of you may have to assist him in wiping himself for several weeks."

Will glared at the warrior, trying to express the rage he felt for his compatriot Alfred's humiliation.  He tried to stare the Thabazimbi soldier down--tried to burn him alive with the hate smoldering within his young blue eyes.  But the soldier was indifferent to his intense stare.  Everything about this warrior seemed to say black ice.  Everything: the cold dark eyes, the hard jawline, the polished-looking ebony skin, the broad shoulders, the well-built chest, the unconscious body of Alfred Milner in his muscled arms.  

Will had to look away.

The warrior, saying no more, moved further into the hut, lay the injured youth down on an unoccupied space of floor near Will Kaiser, folded his own military jacket into a bundle, and propped it under the sleeping Alfred's head like a pillow.

Once the warrior departed and returned to the hut which had been assigned as sleeping quarters for the Afrikaner schoolboys’ jailers, Will turned himself in the direction of Mace's feet again.  His blue eyes were intense.  "We're gonna have to do something . . . for Alfred here, and for the others who were taken away."

"Like what?"  Mace asked.

"A revolt,"  said the roguish lad, realizing quite suddenly that he could warm his freezing feet by sticking them under the unconscious body of Alfred.  This action only caused the drugged, injured youth to give a single twitching jerk--like a puppy having a nightmare.  "We can start a revolt and demand to see our folks."

"How are we supposed to do that?"  asked the freckled Mace, sitting up now.

"I dunno, but I'll think of something.  Help me wake up the other guys."

So, with much jostling and shaking, the hut began to be filled with high pitched whines of waking youths.  It wasn't long before all of the Afrikaner schoolboys--with the exception of the heavily sedated Alfred--were awake and listening intently as Will mapped out a plan of attack…

To be continued…