Major Ian Rusinga was five feet four, he was a solid mass of muscle and brute animal strength, he was bald and he had sharp restless eyes. He had a slight stoop and instead of walking, he charged, he charged and he charged, stopping for no one, stopping for nothing. He was fearless and he was without scruples. Major Ian also did not talk, he yelled and he ranted and he raved. He yelled until he had his way and once he had his way he would yell at the loser for letting him have his way.
His junior officers feared him, his senior officers loathed him and the enlisted men believed him a demon from hell, sent to give them a taste of what was awaiting them.
On this particular day major Ian was happy, something that had never been used to describe him before. He was smiling broadly and the men watching him smile could not believe their eyes, major Ian was actually handsome! And he had white beautiful teeth! And his face could have been anywhere from thirty to forty, it was hard to tell with the smile on his face.
"This is good, this is bloody fantastic boys!" The major was nodding as he smiled, the smile then disappeared, he was suddenly fifty years old with a face that could give babies nightmares for weeks. His audience was suddenly on the alert, their major was back.
Once it was said, an Al Shabaab hitman, dressed as a Kenya army private had infiltrated his camp outside Kismayu and located the major's tent. The hitman had not believed his luck when he entered the major's command tent to find him alone, his back to the entrance, engrossed on a map on the table. Before the hitman could pull out his handgun, the major had turned, looked the hitman level in the eye and asked in his most guttural, heart wrenching voice;
"What the hell are you doing in the command tent private?"
The hitman had lost his nerve and before he could collect his thoughts, the major had head-butted him so hard he fainted on the spot, his nose and teeth in pieces. Major Ian had known all along he was not one of his men, he liked to say he knew each of his six hundred men by name and face. He had played the hitman and decommissioned him so fast he had not even seen it coming. After the incident he had been relocated to Mandera where he now reigned with an iron fist and lived off the curses of his superiors and the complains of his juniors.
"We have him, we have the bastards, see for yourselves you monkeys! Go on have a look, after all you are the ones who do the dirty work around here," major Ian turned his laptop around and shoved it roughly onto the other side of his ugly desk. His officers stared at the screen, partly because they were curious and partly because they were ready to do anything to avoid looking at major Ian. The faces meant nothing, just more Somali faces like the ones before, targets to be picked up, tortured or eliminated.
"Hmmm, what do you think? I'm guessing you don't even see the big picture yet. Well that's not an issue, that's why I'm major and you boys are not. Do you think you can handle them, or are you girls afraid of a little collateral?"
''No problem sir, we've handled far worse,'' the man to the right answered cockily and only saw the look on the major's face when it was too late.
"You've handled worse huh?" The major rose from his office chair with the drama and speed the occasion demanded.
The major's office was spartan, there were no decorations, the major had no time for useless junk. When his predecessor had left him a portrait done specially for him, major Ian had dumped it in the wastebasket and shoved it out of his office, even the flags of the army and the Kenya Defence Forces (KDF) were missing. It was just bare bones. He had a view of the airstrip outside, that was his only luxury, he had said on many occasions that the large windows helped ease the stench coming from the third floor. The third floor was where his bosses worked from.
A small military prop plane sped along the thin runway outside, it was an ugly machine that sounded like it had an upset stomach. It just barely took off and thankfully flew for the sunny Mandera sky. The major had not even stirred, he was too busy circling his desk, his eyes boring one of the young men before him. Lieutenant Derrick Masaku was the one on the hot seat, he was looking outside the window, probably praying for an earthquake, though he knew it would take more than an earthquake to shake away the major.
A slap was coming, or a kick but his colleague, staff sergeant Leonard Kulet was confident the major would simply haul the lieutenant out the window like a sack of good contraband, he had done it before to a captain who had insulted him, he had simply plucked the captain from across the desk, hurled him outside and went on working. The captain had broken a few bones but had healed up nicely. It has taken intense lobbying and bribing to prevent the captain from pressing charges. The major in this situation disappointed and instead cooled down and sat on his desk, his metallic behind barely touching the surface of the desk, he was facing his humbled servants and barely avoiding his laptop.
"How long have you worked here lieutenant?"
"One year."
"How about you bwana NCO. How long have you served in this godforsaken unit?" He looked at the staff sergeant.
"Fifteen years sir."
"Fifteen years, did you hear that lieutenant? Fifteen hard years, fifteen! My God, that's how long it took Jacob to get married to two of Laban's kids. If I were Jacob I would have beaten Laban to death with his arm. Think about it lieutenant, staff sergeant Leonard here has been here fifteen years yet when I asked if you could handle it you ran your mouth, like you knew what you were talking about.
"I've been up and down the gulf of Aden since the days of Siad Barre, I even helped put the Sabaoti jokers to bed, seen things you wouldn't believe, done things that would make you soil your pants kijana. I've felt bullets fly past me and seen men in ghostly white descend on horseback out of the Somali skies and smite my men with giant swords. I've had sex with more women than are in this rotten town and sired hundreds of children in as many places. I've done this and much more so all so you new officers could work in comfort, we have already mopped the blood from the streets so you could get to brigadier from the comfort of your air conditioned office, sitting on your ample behind and feasting on the local cuisine and skimming off Njamba's son. Now Leonard here, poor staff sergeant Leonard will probably end up a warrant officer but don't count on it, good men like Leonard don't get promoted, he will go on home, where do you come from staff sergeant?"
"Ngong sir."
"Ah yes, Leonard will go back to Ngong; to his wife, mistresses, kids, goats, cattle and grandchildren, too spent to do anything, with little money to show for his sweat and blood. I on the other hand will be retired before I even make full colonel and for good measure I will probably have prostrate and lung cancer to take home to a wife who barely knows me…."
He stopped talking and produced a pack of cigarettes from his khaki pocket with little fanfare, like talk of cancer had reminded him he had not smoked for a whole ten minutes. He took one out, gave both his Juniors one and lit them one by one. Lieutenant Derrick did not smoke but he was not about to tell that to major Ian.
"Like I was saying, I will go home, die and be forgotten, all my work down the drain. Me and Leonard will get that, that is our lot Derrick, that is the price of being in charge, being really in charge. That is the price of living to the fullest, of not kissing any man's boots, of doing the job even when it's impossible and we can't stomach what we've done. That's the price of greatness Derrick, of refusing to roll in the mud of conformity like all the other sheep, of looking death and fear in the eye and telling both those two boys to go to hell. Men like you Derrick, live off men like us, you feel me Derrick? We exist so you could live, so you could grow fat and sleek."
"Yessir."
"So when you're a general, you will be kijana, umeskia, stop shaking your head you will make it all the way to major general… so, when being chauffeured around Nairobi in your sleek Range Rover, remember to have a man like Leonard at hand, the donkeyman, the hatchetman, the man who actually get's his hands dirty. Are we understood?"
"Yessir."
"Now get out of here both of you, we meet back at 0700 hours, get your crew ready, I am about to blow something open," he tapped at the laptop screen, "those poor terrorists wannabes are going to get me a promotion, heck maybe even a medal, can't wait to see the look on Bill's smug face."
The two rose, saluted smartly and perfectly, somehow holding on to their smoldering cigarettes lest they get their heads torn off for ingratitude. Major Ian replied in kind and dismissed them with a rare smile.
When they were gone, major Ian sat back in his chair and pulled out a large bottle of Tennessee whiskey, a bottle he had kept for the occasion. He took a huge gulp then he smoked another cigarette, then another, he turned his chair to face the airstrip outside and smoked another ten. He drunk some more of his whiskey then he drunk even more. He drunk until the sun started setting, washing the ugly airstrip in a bewitching kind of yellow that reminded major Ian of a time before time, so long ago it seemed like a dream.
Oh to be young again! So wild and free and healthy, free of responsibilities and lung cancer, cancer, you horrible beast, you finally did what hundreds of Al Shabaab bullets could not. You finally did what ten IEDs could not, you got me dead center in your crosshairs. Your aim was level and true, like a good soldier's. I am going to die in a month's time, in the most excruciating and exquisite pain, oh what a way to go! But he cursed, no I will not, I am a warrior, not a whimpering convalescent, I am a lion, that's not the lion's way. I am going to die today, watching one of the best sunsets of my whole life.
The bullet echoed up and down the second floor, in a second it was all over, ended by a thoroughly cleaned and polished Browning, property of one major Ian Barrack Rusinga, deputy head of the Kenya army special operations unit in the northern command. A lion had fallen, the cry went out, a lion had fallen, a true warrior had bowed out.
He was crying like a baby, he had never cried so much, not since Kevo at class two had kicked him in the shin and deflated his soccer ball with a nail, one of his most prized possessions. Many called him soft and maybe they were right, he just couldn't keep it in, he had tried, oh how he had tried, but it just came pouring out. He was sniffling now, sniffling! A whole lieutenant was sniffling! But who cared, some of his colleagues were also weeping, though in a more manly way, a more dignified way, a lion had fallen and now the hyenas would soon come out to play.
They watched as ten handpicked soldiers and officers from major Ian's original battalion carried the major's coffin, draped in the black, green, red and white of the Kenyan flag. They were walking slowly, somberly, gracefully, their battle-hardened faces displaying sorrow but zero regrets, life had to go on. To the plane they walked, slowly they walked and with tears the rest watched, standing a bit further on both sides, the whole base had come out to see the dead major off. Cannon fire rang out from one end of the airstrip, boom! Boom! Boom! They rang out so loud and the smoke was so thick, lieutenant Derrick Masaku could not see the gunners. They fired again and again, the earth trembled but the soldiers and officers did not even acknowledge it, they looked at the small procession of men as they finally entered the military transport aircraft as the sun rose from the East.
They watched, some with genuine sorrow, others with glee, many of them senior officers. They followed discreetly with craned necks until the procession disappeared in the bowels of the great plane. It was beautiful and it was ugly, it was heart wrenching and it was also uplifting, it was the pride and pain of the army in one coffin, in one aircraft. It was the end of a beautiful cavalier era and the ushering in of a new more corporate era.
The major Ians of the army were dying like flies, most due to old age and boredom. A new dynasty had taken over, populated by very educated and polished officers, most of them having done their time in Sandhurst and West Point. Even Kenyan Indians and Somalis were now serving as officers! Major Ian had lamented often after drinking his fair share of alcohol. Derrick was one of these new breed, born and bred in a military family-he had gone to cadet school and graduated from Nairobi University with a master's in foreign policy, national security and business administration. After a year as a second lieutenant, he had flown to Sandhurst in the U.K and learned further the dark arts of population control, logistics and administration.
After being promoted to full lieutenant, he had been put under major Ian, helping him run his own independent unit, sanctioned with identifying, capturing or killing Al Shabaab militants in and around Mandera, either in Kenya or Somalia. He ran the day to day field operations and had won over the men with his charm and humility. Being the cunning man he was, he had simply allowed staff sergeant Leonard Kulet do the donkey work while he took all the credit, it was a win-win; the sergeant got to feel important while he avoided making mistakes due to his very limited field experience and obvious youth.
Their CO was a lieutenant colonel the man who major Ian had answered to but rarely saw, kissed up to or even acknowledged existed. The colonel was a third floor officer, he did not care what they did, as long as they kept him out of whatever they were doing. He was a career officer, he avoided hardwork and risk at all costs and many credited that for his meteoric rise through the ranks. He was the youngest lieutenant colonel in ages and had a fantastic relationship with top brass.
The lieutenant colonel was the man seated across from Derrick, on his one hundred and fifty thousand shilling leather chair and sipping tea from a polished tea cup. It was two hours after the shipping of major Ian's body to Nairobi but it was business as the usual in the administration block. The major had been quickly forgotten and the vultures were picking through his work, determining what was juicy enough to continue working on and what was to be buried at all cost. The chief vulture was the lieutenant colonel but Derrick did not see it that way, despite all his training he inherently believed in the goodness of men, after all, their intentions were nothing but noble and pure.
Lt. colonel William K. Rono was tall and lean, everything about him was lean and long; from his ears, nose, lips, to his hands, legs and even midriff. His fingers though were extra long and looked very delicate and lady-like. Derrick found them hypnotic, the way he moved them about and then brought them together, touching the tips of the fingers lightly then smiling cunningly. He reminded Derrick of a cartoon character but he was not sure which one.
"So I hear you had a list of targets just before Ian's passing."
"We did sir, we were hoping to get back to work right away."
"Well here's the thing lieutenant, the targets had not been vetted yet by the National Intelligence Service (NIS). I got a call from the NIS boss in the region and he assured me they had made a mistake, happens to the best of us."
"Yessir."
"Had the major shared anything with you?" William was a bit concerned, he even stopped moving his thin hands for a second.
"No sir."
"Had he shown you the faces of the men, maybe names, addresses?"
"Just in passing sir, it was so fast and unfortunately we did not even make the faces out."
"Well that's o.k, no harm no foul, like I said they are all law abiding citizens and need not be harrased by anyone," the lt. colonel was suddenly happy and congratulated himself with a sip of his tea. In fact he always looked happy, he always smiled or grinned.
Derrick took the opportunity to look around the office and was shocked by the contrasts it provided with major Ian's office. The ceiling was much higher, the room sparkled with polished furniture and everything smelled new and wonderful. Even the colonel's uniform smelled good, it was well pressed and for some reason his shoulder tab insignias just popped, unlike the dead major's. He wore a Swiss watch and had his cap neatly atop his head of luxurious greying hair. The window behind the colonel opened to a view of the airstrip, though this one overlooked the greener part of the airstrip, even the air up here tasted sweeter, contrary to what major Ian had repeatedly suggested.
"Listen lieutenant, I have something for you, it's time sensitive, needs to be done tonight," he was now stiff and after looking inside a drawer he pulled out a neat brown folder, something the major never did, the major always gave oral briefings and chewed up anyone who said he had not heard or digested the briefings.
"Yessir."
"You can leave with the folder, get it done. Meet me tomorrow morning."
"Yessir."
"And enough with the sir, call me Bill, everyone does."
"Yessir," Derrick saluted and fled the office, the folder under his right shoulder.
Hours later during lunch in the officer's mess where he sat with his friend, a young buck like him, a second lieutenant, fresh off his first deployment in Somalia, Derrick pretended to be listening as his mind spun over the details of his overnight mission. The target was most unusual and the thin information he had been handed was troubling to say the least. He had a bad feeling about the mission but buried it under a healthy heaping of chapati and chicken stew. He was a man of rules and whatever his boss commanded, he did without a thought.
"So me and my platoon were trapped along a river bed, running low on supplies and barely able to move….." his friend Haggai Ongaya was enthusiastically narrating. The story sounded familiar because he heard it a million times before, from as many junior officers and NCOs. He dismissed the story and focused on his own issues, the narrator was after all too dumb to notice.
The man they were supposed to kill was a well-known doctor in Mandera town, that was what really got to Derrick, a doctor! What had the doctor done? According to intelligence he and his son-in-law made bombs behind his clinic while also sending medicine and other supplies to Al Shabaab insurgents. The good doctor was also helping funnel money from the wealthy Somali diaspora in Dubai to Al Shabaab cells in Ethiopia and Kenya. How did he do it? Well that's where the son-in-law came in, he sold everything from his giant shop and did not keep receipts, just sold stuff like it was 1928 Somaliland and at night inflated his profits and bought gold. He bought a lot of gold, silver and other precious stone jewelry and sent them to his a thousand nieces, in-laws and nephews in Somalia.
That was suspicious of course but not unusual. The report had more just in case Derrick was not sold on the terrorist doctor and his son-in-law story, it purpoted that recently, the doctor had met a known lieutenant of the Al Shabaab while visiting relatives in Hargeisa. The NIS had snapped several pictures of the two men, talking it seemed, in hushed tones in the corner of the Grand Hargeisa hotel. This was bad but Derrick knew many prominent Somalis met the said Al Shabaab lieutenant just so they could travel safely within the moderately peaceful and prosperous borders of Somaliland. Why not bring in the doctor for questioning, he wondered? He sighed, he wished he could dump this on his staff sergeant but he knew he couldn't, Leonard followed the rules, killed who he was told to and went to his bed with a clear conscience, ready to wake up the next day and do it all over again.
"Hey Derrick," it was his friend, he was calling him to turn his attention to something. He looked up and saw the outstretched hand of a second lieutenant, a new one by the looks of it. It seemed like he had been offered a greeting but had not heard it.
"Oh hello," he managed a forced smile and shook the junior lieutenant's hand.
"Hello, I must say it's an honor to meet you."
"Oh, o.k."
It had never dawned on Derrick that working for the special operations team, especially under the great major Ian had earned him fame among his cohorts, fame he neither sought or wanted. As far as he was concerned it was staff sergeant Leonard who deserved all the glory.
"May I sit?" The junior officer asked.
"Of course, of course," Haggai all but rushed to invite the officer to sit across from Derrick. He then gave Derrick a wink, Derrick missed this one too. He also did not understand why his friend suddenly made a poor excuse of missing a game then departed swiftly.
The junior officer seated across from him was Joan Mueni, a very beautiful and cheerful officer just arrived from Nairobi where she had been training as an I.T expert, interning for a brigadier general. She was a bit confused by Derrick's cold reception, by now most other male officers would have bought her lunch, a glass of juice and all but knelt beside her, ready to fetch her anything else she desired. Derrick was however just finishing up his meal, barely giving her a thought, wondering what game his friend had gone to watch that aired at one p.m on a weekday.
"So Derrick, have you been here long?" She finally asked as the civilian waiter walked towards them.
"A year or so."
"What do you do for fun around here?"
She stopped talking when the waiter stood before them, directly in front of Derrick. He was assuming she was Derrick's date. Derrick looked him in the eye, confused.
"Get me salad and a glass of mango juice," Joan stepped in swiftly and was surprised to see Derrick check his watch then mutter a soft curse. He then abruptly rose from his seat and all but marched away in a straight line to the exit of the mess hall. Joan couldn't help but laugh lightly, somehow what he had just done made her want him more, Derrick's friend would come in handy. Like most men he was willing to do anything for her, even set her up with his best friend, no matter how much he wanted to switch places with Derrick.
"Team leader, we are ready to breach, over," staff sergeant Leonard Kulet barked over the radio. He and ten of his finest men were outside Dr. Mohammed Abdinassir's home in a deserted part of suburban Mandera, dressed in black from head to toe and ready to extend their night vision goggles over their eyes. Each man had an M-16 rifle slung over his back but carried silenced Beretta pistols pointed at the door, ready to shoot, not that they expected the man they were here for to suddenly jump outside with a Kalashnikov in hand. As far as they knew, he was home with his wife, a sick son and four teenage daughters. Just to be safe their lieutenant was breaching from the rear with five men.
"Team Jericho your are clear to engage, go, go, go!" the lieutenant screamed into Leonard's ear, for some reason he was cranky today, something he had never been before. Leonard signaled his men and they all extended their night vision goggles, cocked their pistols and prepared to charge, this was going to be delicious!
Just like in the SWAT movies, Leo, as he was called kicked in the door and it gave with barely an audible whimper. The giant NCO then rushed in with the force and will of death, almost daring anyone by just his body language to stop him. No one did, and he was somehow disappointed to find most of the first floor empty after a swift and soundless sweep with his men. They were about to check the last room when they saw three muzzle flashess from that room, fast and merciless, all three barely mechanical coughs. They rushed into the kitchen through it's open door and Leo almost bumped headfirst with his commanding officer. He and his five men were standing in the kitchen, their bodies communicating the triumph of five battle hardened men over a helpless man.
Slumped against an open fridge was the figure of a man in pajamas who was already dead. Leo removed his goggles and using the light from the open fridge was able to see clearly what had been done. The man was no doubt Dr. Mohammed Abdinassir, he was small, wiry and with a balding head of white hair. Next to him was a carton of mala, half of it already spilt on the floor, mixing with the torrent of blood flowing from his face and neck. He looked startled, scared even, a bullet had gone through the space between his nose and left sideburn, making him look like he had developed a third eye. Leonard rose from his kneeling position and met the eyes of his boss, obviously the one who had pulled the trigger. He wanted to assure the younger man but only managed to hoarsely say;
"We have to get moving, right now!"
"Uhhh."
"Lieutenant let's go!" He dragged the dazed officer and shepherded his men towards the rear door, barely meters away. Almost there! They were actually going to do it, it was an awkward sight, fifteen men crammed into a small kitchen, struggling to get out before the alarm went out. Fresh air! They poured outside and swiftly rushed for the short fence separating the house from a vast semi arid expanse. The lieutenant now no longer feeling like throwing up jumped over the fence, then three, five men, six, seven, they were all through and like all their missions the staff sergeant was the last over the fence as the rest of the men covered his rear, like any minute a team of Al Shabaab militants was going to rake them with machine gun fire and RPGs.
They were home free! They had done their country's job and prevailed, it was back to base, back to warm food and a cold beer, back to war stories and petty base politics. They had won another night, if only major Ian were around to see them.