4. Gray Retribution

by Alan McDermott

  ‘What do you mean, break off the attack?’

  He glared at Baako, who, despite being only the messenger, was clearly worried. With good reason: being awakened with bad news did nothing for Obi’s mood.

  ‘They pulled back when the Agbi began using mortars,’ Baako told him, nervously. ‘They were taking huge losses and decided to—’

  ‘My men do not retreat!’

  The scream woke everyone in the temporary camp, and all heads turned to see what had angered their leader.

  ‘You tell Kgosi to track them down and kill every single one,’ Obi said, jabbing Baako in the chest with a beefy finger. ‘I don’t care how many people it takes, just do it!’

  The lieutenant quickly got Kgosi on the phone and shot off the instructions. After a few seconds, Baako suggested his counterpart relay the message himself and handed the phone to Obi before taking a step backwards.

  ‘I don’t want excuses!’ Obi screamed into the handset after listening for a moment. ‘I don’t care if they outnumber you a hundred to one and have nuclear weapons. You will find them and destroy them!’

  He couldn’t allow anyone in the region to survive if his advance north were to continue unimpeded: having enemy forces to his front and rear would be suicidal. Six hundred men had been tasked with clearing Selena, and now a third were gone, wiped out in a single exchange. He’d allowed for casualties, but not so many in one hit, and it looked like he’d have to bring up the reserves a lot sooner than planned. It was either that, or halt the advance north to send men back to finish the job, but that would throw off his timetable and give the rest of the Agbi forces time to regroup.

  Obi pulled out a map and asked Kgosi in which direction the enemy were moving. He scanned the map for possible destinations in the north-east but apart from the airstrip he saw nothing but forest. That meant they must be trying to fly out of the area. If so, they were in for a surprise. His men had already captured the strip, the four personnel who ran it having easily been overwhelmed and killed.

  ‘I’ll send some help,’ he growled into the phone. ‘I want you to drive the Agbi north where reinforcements will be lying in wait. Once you’ve eliminated everyone, join up as originally planned. You’ve got twenty-four hours.’

  He jabbed at the disconnect button and thrust the phone into Baako’s chest.

  ‘Move the boys up,’ he said. ‘Have them drive to the airfield and then head south. Kgosi can drive the Agbi towards them until there is nowhere left to run.’

  ‘But sir, they are not all ready. Only a few of the boys have been in the camp long enough—’

  ‘I know the situation,’ Obi barked. ‘I’ve been watching their development. They are as ready as we need them to be. If any of them refuse, tell Fene to make an example of them.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And send five of our vehicles with twenty men to reinforce the airport. If the Agbi are heading there, it is for a reason. They must be expecting someone to pick them up.’

  If, by some miracle, Kgosi managed to do his job properly, Obi would instruct him to hold the airstrip and call his motorised troops back for the push north. Five vehicles out of a hundred wouldn’t be missed in the meantime.

  The discussion over, Obi climbed back into the Land Rover to get another hour of sleep before sunrise.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tuesday 8 October 2013

  When the door was pushed open and orders barked into the dark shack, Nafari Cisse threw himself upright and immediately regretted it. His shoulder screamed in protest, his hand moving instinctively to the bloody weal where the instructor had hit him relentlessly with a cane.

  The other three boys in the room grabbed their meagre belongings and stood to attention, leaving Nafari to incur the man’s wrath. The last boy to follow instructions always got a little reminder, and this time it was the flat of a machete against the side of Nafari’s head. From experience he knew that if he let the blow sink in, more and more would follow, so he shrugged it off as best he could and stood unsteadily next to the heavy blanket that represented his bed.

  ‘We are leaving in five minutes,’ the soldier told them, and gave instructions to form up in the centre of the camp.

  The boys trotted out of their hut, one or two holding their stomachs as the intestinal pain once again took hold. Nafari tried to ignore the cramps, but only another hit of whoonga would keep them at bay for a few hours. It had become a familiar and desperate need. After a week on the drug, the withdrawal pains worsened every day.

  He lined up next to the boys he shared a bed with. His original companions had been moved out a couple of days after his arrival, and these new recruits had been there for just three days. They were younger than him, ranging from eight to ten years old, but they learned faster. This meant Nafari got the lion’s share of any punishment, though he was doing his best to catch up.

  The previous day had been unarmed combat training, and after suffering at the hands of first a larger boy and then a smaller, younger one, the instructor had lost patience. Nafari had been dragged into the middle of the camp and whipped with the cane in front of the others, a warning for all to see. Capitulation would not be tolerated, and defeat was not an option.

  Initially, he had considered escaping into the forest. That was until another boy had a similar idea and managed to slip his restraints before dashing off into the night. Since then, Nafari only had to look over to the side of the camp when the notion entered his mind. The escapee’s head, sitting lopsided on a spike, quickly dispelled such thoughts.

  The camp commander, Fene Adebola, was a giant of a man at almost seven feet tall. He strode purposefully towards the young troops, carrying a Kalashnikov in one hand and the obligatory machete in the other.

  ‘Some of you have been here for months, and some for just a few days. But today, you are all soldiers.’

  ‘Today you will meet the enemy, and as soldiers, you will do your duty.’

  One or two of the boys who’d been through the long indoctrination process yelled enthusiastically, and soon the rest joined in. Even Nafari pretended to be thankful for this opportunity, though in truth all he wanted at that moment in time was another hit of whoonga.

  ‘Most of you are ready, and I know you will do what I ask, but some of you may be thinking of running instead of fighting.’

  He walked towards the first rank of boys and moved up the line, like a general inspecting his troops. He stopped when he came to one of the boys who’d arrived just the previous day.

  ‘Are you ready to fight?’

  The eight-year-old nodded, though his young faced betrayed a lack of conviction. Fene put an arm around the boy’s shoulder and led him out of the ranks before handing him the AK-47 and walking away.

  After a dozen steps he turned to face the boy. ‘Let’s see how ready you are.’

  Without warning, he ran at the child, machete raised as he bellowed a blood-curdling war cry. The boy was petrified at the sight of the screaming giant, and he dropped the rifle, sending it clattering to the ground.

  Sniggers drifted from the line of boys, but the commander hadn’t done it for their entertainment. His intention was to shock them into obedience, and the show was far from over.

  He put his free hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘This one is not ready to go into battle,’ he said, and casually ran the long knife over the shaking child’s abdomen. There was a surprising lack of blood, just a wriggling grey mass as the intestines fought for a way out.

  The commander ignored the child’s agonised howls as he addressed the rest of the boy soldiers, all of them now wearing focused expressions.

  ‘If anyone else is thinking of throwing down their weapons or using them against anyone but the enemy, you won’t be as lucky as this one.’

  He gestured towards the dying child, who was desperately trying to stem the flow of organs.

  All were forced to watch until the boy finally lost the futile battle.

  Once the ti
ny body lay still, the boys were led over to the ersatz armoury—a small shack with Kalashnikovs piled from floor to ceiling. Each was given a rifle and one clip of ammunition, and those who hadn’t advanced to weapons training were given a crash course. They weren’t shown how to strip the gun down and clean it, as the assumption was that very few would make it past their first encounter with the Agbi. Instead, they were told how to hold it, aim and pull the trigger. Anyone who lived to see the next dawn would then be shown the rest of the basics, such as using the fire selector and changing the magazine.

  Once everyone was armed, they were given a whoonga reefer to share between four, just enough to take the edge off their cravings and ease the pain slightly.

  ‘You will get one between two of you before we meet the enemy. Those who live to see the sun set will get one to themselves from that moment on.’

  Incentivised, they piled aboard the trucks when ordered to do so. Those who had been at the camp longest were excited at the prospect of battle, though most were either daydreaming about their increased drug rations or just plain scared.

  Nafari Cisse fell into the latter category.

  The first fingers of dawn crept through the leafy canopy as Len Smart ordered a ten-minute rest break. The procession halted and everyone dropped to the ground, glad of the chance to rest their aching legs and take on what little water they’d brought along for the journey.

  Red colobus monkeys chirped their annoyance at the intrusion into their domain, but the catcalls went ignored as the weary travellers spent their time fighting off the myriad insects out for a dawn feed.

  Smart and his team were suffering the effects of the humidity, which made them feel as if they were breathing syrup. He wiped his brow with the now-soaking handkerchief and ordered Campbell to take ten men and watch the rear while he gathered his other teammates to check their progress using the map and a handheld GPS device.

  They’d been on the go for nearly four hours and expected to be halfway to the airstrip, but the elderly had slowed the pace to a crawl at times, despite the instructors’ best efforts to instil a sense of urgency.

  ‘Best guess, we won’t reach the airstrip until after midnight,’ Sonny said, getting nods from the others.

  ‘That’s if we can keep up this pace,’ Levine added. ‘I’m not sure half of them will last another mile, never mind twenty.’

  Smart felt it wouldn’t have been so bad if they could simply offload the civvies in a local village and carry on by themselves, but the entire route wound through thick, uninhabited jungle. Even when they got to the airstrip, they had to hope that Gray had taken their charges into account: it would take more than a two-seater turboprop to ferry them all to safety.

  Leaving them at the airfield wasn’t an option, either, Smart knew. The troops trailing them from the south would soon regroup and take them on once more, of that they had no doubt. If they managed to evade the enemy until they reached the airport, abandoning the villagers at that point would render the entire journey pointless.

  Smart pulled out the satellite phone and hit Gray’s preprogrammed number.

  ‘Looks like we’re gonna be a bit late,’ he said as soon as his boss picked up. ‘If we don’t have any more contacts, expect us in eighteen hours.’

  ‘Any more? How many have you had?’

  Smart gave a quick rundown of the brief encounter with the enemy. ‘We lost three locals and have a few walking wounded.’

  ‘Are you guys okay?’

  ‘We’re fine. Our main concern is what to do with the non-combatants once we reach the strip. We’re hauling over a hundred.’

  ‘I’m working on that,’ Gray assured him. ‘We might have to make more than one trip, though.’

  That wouldn’t be a problem if the airstrip were secured, Smart realised, but he’d discussed a possible scenario with the others, who’d come to the same conclusion.

  ‘Actually, I’m afraid we might have to take the strip back,’ he told Gray. ‘If you and I were planning to take this country, we’d make sure we controlled the major installations, including the airport. We’re working on the assumption that it’s already in enemy hands.’

  ‘Wise move. Have you got everything you need for that kind of assault?’

  ‘We grabbed what we could from the camp and it should be enough . . . if we don’t have to use any ammo in the meantime.’

  Smart felt his words must have reached the fickle god of war. They’d just left his mouth when the rattle of small arms fire resounded through the trees, and he knew Campbell and his small squad would need help repelling the latest attack.

  ‘Gotta go, Tom, they’re back for more.’ He stabbed the ‘End’ button. ‘Carl, get these people moving! Sonny, on me.’

  He led Sonny towards the sound of the skirmish, which was already beginning to peter out. By the time they arrived, the fight was over.

  ‘A small scouting party,’ Campbell said, as he flicked the safety on his rifle. ‘No more than three or four. I think we got a couple.’

  ‘Let’s get moving,’ Smart said. ‘The rest will be on our tails in no time.’

  Tom Gray sat with the phone in his hand and for the umpteenth time he wondered how he’d let things get to this stage. He cursed himself for not following his instincts and pulling them out at the first hint of trouble.

  That got him thinking about Andrew Harvey, and he retrieved his friend’s number on his mobile phone.

  ‘Sorry about the early wake-up call, Andrew.’

  Harvey assured him it wasn’t a problem—if Tom were calling at this hour, it must be something serious.

  Gray gave him a breakdown of the last eight hours and asked if he could pull any strings with the foreign office.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ve got enough clout to make a difference,’ Harvey said. ‘I’ll certainly let them know that British citizens are in the middle of it all, but whether they do anything about it is another matter.’

  ‘Thanks, Andrew, I appreciate it.’

  ‘Don’t thank me yet. I’ll do what I can, and it might help, but I wouldn’t stake my house on it. Once they realise that the people stuck behind enemy lines are four of the people who held Britain to ransom, their enthusiasm might wane. Even if it were four others, you know how slow the diplomatic route is. It could be days before anything is done.’

  ‘I can’t just abandon them there.’

  ‘I know Tom. I’m just saying, don’t expect anything to happen any time soon.’

  Gray knew Harvey was right. The political wheels turned slowly at the best of times, and they would virtually grind to a halt once the government learned who was in trouble. He knew that sending in troops was also a political decision, so that idea could be ruled out, too.

  That left him with just one option. He’d been considering it all morning, and now that all other avenues had been explored and discounted, he knew what he had to do.

  ‘Thanks anyway, Andrew. I’ll let the guys know to keep their heads down until we sort something out.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gray asked.

  ‘I’ve known you for a while, Tom. There’s no way you’d leave this to the political machine, so let me know what you’ve got in mind.’

  Gray considered lying, but Harvey always saw through his fabrications. Hiding his true feelings had always been a problem for Gray, and he’d never been much of a liar. True, he’d fooled the entire country a couple of years ago, but he’d had plenty of time to practice his speeches to make them sound convincing. It was when he tried to spin a tale off the cuff that he was usually found out.

  ‘You don’t want to know,’ he eventually said. ‘It’s better that way.’

  ‘Tom—’

  ‘It’s all right. Don’t worry. I just have to do what I can to get them back. They’re like brothers to me. The less you know, the better.’

  ‘Now you’re really worrying me. When you start thinking like this, all hell breaks loo
se.’

  ‘I’m just going to provide them with an exit route, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s never that simple,’ Harvey said, ‘and you know it. Let me help if I can. Just let me know what you’ve got in mind.’

  ‘A simple exfiltration,’ said Gray. ‘That’s all. I’m going to arrange transportation to meet them at the airfield and fly them out. Worst case, it’ll be a violation of Malundi airspace by persons unknown, and given the fact that they haven’t even got an air force, they probably won’t even know about it.’

  ‘I can live with that,’ Harvey acquiesced, ‘and I’ll see what I can do from this end.’

  Gray thanked him and hung up, glad his friend hadn’t pushed for more details.

  He opened his favourite browser and checked the BBC news website. It had picked up the story, though it hadn’t quite reached the front pages, and he had to search through the Africa section to find it. The three paragraphs gave few details, which wasn’t surprising. The invasion was less than eight hours old, so it would be some time before reporters had anything to share with the world. That, at least, would work in his favour, given the idea that he’d been ruminating over since waking up.

  He opened up a list of his employees and filtered it to those without a current assignment. It took thirty minutes to find a dozen men with the necessary skills, and despite it being before six in the morning, he began making phone calls.

  An hour later, ten of the twelve had accepted his offer. He hadn’t been able to get in touch with the other two, so he searched for two alternates and had them on board by half past seven.

  With the team assembled, he searched the internet for flights leaving Heathrow in the next four hours. That would give him enough leeway to let everyone pack what they needed and get to the airport at the prearranged time.

  After making a fresh cup of coffee, he called his doctor and asked for an urgent letter to confirm that he was fit to fly. It wouldn’t do to turn up at the airport with his injuries and be refused permission to board the plane. He arranged to pick it up from the surgery on his way to the airport, and then brought up his contact list. He found the number for a former colleague who now worked for a game reserve just a couple of hundred kilometres from Malundi’s eastern border.