"Lieutenant, tangos flanking your right, at least twelve-strong, one click out, " the mission commander urgently called over the radio. Derrick hated him instantly, he was probably munching a donut in an air-conditioned office overlooking the beach in Kismayu, guiding them from the safety of a drone command base. Too bad they did not have any chopper on hand. Most were busy-the war on Al Shabaab kept all the army aircraft busy day and night. The airforce only did limited precision strikes, they could not be bothered to help out every Tom, Dick and Private stuck in the Somali hinterland.
"Copy, " Derrick Masaku swallowed a sickening lump of sweet and acidic fear. He was down to six men, armed with M-16 rifles that were down to their last magazines. They had not taken a drop of water in almost half a day and food in two days. They had trekked over seven kilometers to get away from the ambush area as fast as possible. They were aiming for a Ugandan army base two kilometers from their location. The militants had probably been sent to cut off their retreat.
"Twelve tangos approaching, sergeant get the machine gun, get ready, this will be a quick fight, " he smiled unconvincingly, almost cracking his parched lips in the process. The men were tough, they slowly got ready, heading for a small rise.
"Weapons hot."
"Weapons hot."
Derrick put down the radio pack and unslung his binoculars, over dry grass and stunted trees he saw the approaching band, too bad their sniper had been killed along with five men when they ran over an IED.
They waited until the militants were within shooting range, sergeant Leonard took a deep breath and waited for Derrick's order. In that moment, Derrick saw his men like he was in space, scanning every millimeter of their exhausted and starving faces, looking into their souls through their fearless eyes. They had faith in him! They really thought he had a plan to get them out alive, most of them were a decade older than him but had put all their faith in his hands. They had no fear because they believed he had none. They did not grumble over thirst and hunger because he showed none of these discomforts. Through their faith he was strengthened, primed and assured of victory. He was ready, they could come now. He went prone, everyone did, not daring move a muscle.
A small flock of vultures rode the heat waves of that parched region, their mournful cries bouncing over parched wasteland. Death was about to be unleashed.
He was about to squeeze his trigger when someone touched him, he almost jumped out of his skin. What the hell? He was on a bed! The walls were a sickening blue and the light so bright but slowly dimmed as his eyes adjusted. He saw silhouettes, he heard chatter. He smelt antiseptic and sickness, so strong he could taste it on his lips. He was thirsty but not like he had been minutes ago in the punishing heat and dust of southern Somalia.
He made out the face of his mother, his dad was in the background, disapproval on his tiny face, he saw his sister, all the people he loved and loathed. No way he was in Mandera, something about the air and mannerisms of his people told him he was deep in Kenyan territory-the real Kenya.
He remembered everything, suddenly and in a flash, making his head develop beads of sweat-he had been so lucky. How long had he been out?
Of all the people in the world Mary Kariuki had saved his life. She and her friend had ordered him out of the bus and walked him to a discreet distance to harangue him for leaving without a proper goodbye. Derrick had lost his cool and was about to end his relationship with her when he had been knocked off his feet by a force so strong he still found it hard to believe it existed. He wondered what had become of his men, of the tens of soldiers happy to go home and meet their families. He checked his body, a momentary scare that he was paralysed disappeared when out of pure instinct he swung his legs off the bed, he was in a shirt and blue hospital trousers, so light his slight boner was visible, no one noticed. He was in a private wing, only four other beds occupied the space. A huge sign proclaimed;
NARENDRA PATIL NAIROBI HOSPITAL.
PRIVATE WING.
So that's where he was, the best hospital in the region, located in the wealthier suburbs of Nairobi city. A nurse rushed to his side. His family stared, not sure what to do. He had not spoken to them in months and they were not sure what to do now that they had finally met him.
"Sir, please, you need to rest, you're in no condition to walk. You have been out for a day now. You are on painkillers, strong painkillers, " the nurse saw this had an effect on him. She leaned on him, he was really muscular, she felt her body soften but thankfully he slid back on his bed.
"We had to remove dozens of shrapnel from your body, you are very lucky, very lucky. Most of your friends not so much."
She tucked him in and left. His mother edged closer, his sister sat on a bed across from his. His father remained stationary on his feet, still frowning. Damn him.
"What happened? What happened to the rest of my friends and colleagues? The nurse said they were not so lucky, what did she mean?"
"You need to recover first Derrick, some time home, the quiet will do you some good."
"Your mother is right, " his dad butted in, his baritone thick and enraging, "come to the farm, the rest of the family can't wait to see you. This could be a blessing in disguise. Maybe this was God telling you you need to consider a normal life; wife, kids, free time."
"Go easy John, " his mother cut in harshly. Derrick's sister saw her chance, the fourteen year old was as loud and opiniated as her dad.
"Did you find someone in Mandera or are you still keen on the tough bachelor bullshit?"
"Shania, stop it, " their mother snapped. Shania smiled and kept eye contact with Derrick challengingly.
Derrick could only think of his men, he demanded his phone. They brought it, he opened the news app, someone grabbed it, it was his dad.
"This will do you no good son, rest up, we'll come see you again tomorrow. Maybe we could walk in nature catch up on old times, " his dad never owned a smart phone, still ran five kilometers a day and hated anything impractical.
"Goodbye son, " his mom held his hand in hers, his sister punched him on the shoulder and his dad simply nodded. A giant clock on the wall chimed, it was half past four p.m.
He had never met the president or his deputy or his chief of staff; all three men children of a bygone era of dictatorship but now ruled a democratic nation with a powerful press, civil society and lobby groups. Of course they still had some dark powers but these had diminished lately, men like Chris Ngure were becoming more and more important. He and three men were inside Sagana state lodge perched near the slopes of Mt. Kenya, overlooking the glorious Sagana falls and the thick Aberdares forest in the distance. In the lounge of a stately log house looking out a glass window made in the fifties, Chris found it hard to believe he was looking at reality, not the painting of a colonial era artist, high on barbiturates and the fantasy of owning a piece of Mt. Kenya.
The three were silent, too awed by the beauty, lull of birds and fresh air to talk. There was also the apprehesion of meeting the most powerful men in the nation and briefing them on intelligence they had no business consuming. This however had to be done, for the greater good. They needed these men on board. Robert Kimani was the NIA director, he was lithe, immaculately dressed and as straight as men came-only literally, he had the best posture a man could have. Morally he was as malleable as they came. His colleague was the committee chairperson of the parliament select committee on intelligence, MP Alexander Mwachofi from Wundanyi, an otherwise forgettable constituency in the coast of Kenya. He was as old as the mountains and constantly dubbed his teary eyes with wrinkled and trembling hands, he however remained sharper than all his peers combined.
Chris Ngure's title for the day was the NIA agent in charge of special operations, he was in a suit and the tie was precisely in it's place. He rarely wore suits but when he did, he did it right.
"When are these assholes getting here? I will miss my afternoon lunch date, " the NIA director whispered. An attendant making last touches on the furniture stopped dusting nonexistent dust and looked Robert Kimani in the eye.
"Tell anyone and I'll kill your entire village, " the director was dead serious. The attendant nodded and got out of the room.
Just then, the door opened and the president's chief of staff came in, smiling like an old friend.
"Bobby, " he and the director hugged and tapped each others back, hard.
"How are the grandkids bwana MP. Got my gift?" The smiling man turned to face the older man.
"I did young man, we are grateful."
"Don't mention it, the president always has something for his friends. And you, have we met?"
"No sir, I am Christopher Ngure, head of special operations, " Chris shook the man's hand, he also wore his best smile.
"Nice to meet you, a friend of ours Bob?"
"The jury's still out on that one Mikey. Looks like a model but without the empty head or thin skin, " his boss tapped him on the shoulder. The duo laughed, Chris smiled and the MP dabbed his eyes repeatedly.
"I'm guessing the president and his deputy are not coming, " Chris observed, killing the merry mood.
"Well….yes, the two have a thing with fundraisers in the main house, election stuff, sucks I know. All you have is me, I will brief them when they are free."
More deflated than they had been, they all sat down and on cue three attendants came in, tea is the main cash crop in that part of the nation, the best in the world. It was appropriately cold and gloomy, they waited patiently for the tea flasks, sugar, milk and pastries to be neatly arranged on the small ebony table, after murmurs of thanks they were left to their devices.
"Here's the thing Mike, we have someone in ISIS, " the NIA director started slowly after a sip of his tea.
"Amazing! An asset in the enemy camp."
"Not one, quite a few actually, with military experience and expertise to help them rise up the ranks, " Robert pressed.
Michael Nyakundi was as sharp as they came, he was a London King's College graduate in political science and foreign policy but had cut his teeth in realpolitik as a lobbyist for Fidelity International Limited in the halls of parliament and the senate. He had made many friends and eventually his connections had landed him the top job in the president's staff. He wore sweaters and turtlenecks, Gucci loafers and tight khakis, black designer glasses and Swiss watches. Chris noticed this and was instantly repulsed. His fingers looked manicured and he could smell the expensive cologne across the table. What the chief of staff had heard came to him like a freight train but his mind quickly got over the initial shock and he swiftly understood where the conversion was going.
"Gentlemen, I thank you for coming but I don't want to hear this. I am not going to tell the president or his deputy, you people figure something out."
Damn, he was smart! He had refused to drink from the poisoned chalice. He shook their hands warmly and headed for the door, he stopped and turned to look the director in the eye.
"If you boys are still keen on advancing your scheme, the best place for you is the CDF's office, " he nodded regrettably, "can't believe you wanted to pile this shit on the president's plate, good thing I advised them not to come."
He bent her over the plush table, it was a hundred years old, once it had been used by the British East Africa's top man in Kenya. He had probably used it to dole out deeds for land in the name of the Queen to settlers, eager to conquer new lands further inland. The current occupant used it for more base desires. The woman whose head and torso were on the desk wore a heavy khaki skirt, this he expertly unzipped and pulled down, this was not his first rodeo. She let out a short yell of mock disbelief, he spanked her, she laughed, he groaned. He pulled her up, she arched her back willingly, this he liked and it made him even harder, her thick coat made it hard to cup her breasts, she had none to begin with, he gave up on them. He pulled down her panties and he slid into her, she stopped moving.
The aide to commander of the Kenya defence forces was a major, he loved his job, loved his boss and loved the discipline and rigours that came with the job. His boots shone, his clothes were pristine, his ironed pleats were as sharp as knives and all the medals and insignias on him were polished to perfection. He sat outside the big man's office and answered his beck and call. He followed him everywhere and did for him anything and everything. He polished the crown on his official hat, it shone, he polished some more. He then straightened it on the table beside his desktop, what was taking the boss so long? Usually he would take four minutes to do his business, he was now on his eighth minute.
His meat for the day was a twenty three year old private, one of the many new trainee staff in the administration building, she had been chosen personally by the Commander of the Defence forces on one of his long walks in the expansive military headquarters. As usual major Hassan Guyo had been following him, briefcase in hand and pistol in holster, ready for anything and anyone. The boss had stopped a group of female privates and asked them the usual, how was the training, the food, the coping and blah blah blah. He had made sure to catch the private's name. Later he had sent him to fetch her, he needed an errand girl he said, he didn't want his aide squirrelling around looking for paper and ink, staplers and binders. True, he had agreed, not daring to raise an eyebrow or even a muscle, his boss scared and saw through him. Guyo in turn scared and saw through everyone else. Major Guyo had sent for the private and almost an hour full of laughter and the best wine in the country later, the CDF had shut the door and locked it. This was after giving Hassan a long and stern look.
Hassan was a devout muslim, he hated this part of his boss and would have deserted any other man who did what the CDF did. It was just that he really felt loyal and protective of the man, wanted to serve to the best of his ability, keep the secrets of the CDF and keep him at his best for as long as possible. He heard the huge oak doors open, the grinning private popped out, her clothes rumpled and her hair a mess, she totally ignored him, Hassan did not mind, she had just fucked the CDF after all, who was he to her?
"Come in major, come join me, " the four star lieutenant general called in his loud, friendly and guileless voice, all three characteristics he faked well but did not have.
Hassan walked in and stood at attention, the CDF was facing the French doors that led to an elaborate English garden on the other side, the curtains were drawn shut. The man was slowly fastening the buttons of his shirt, sighing with pleasure.
Hassan poured him a fresh glass of wine and drew the curtains open.
"That girl was something else.... major don't give me that look."
"Sorry sir."
"Speak frankly major, you and I have known each other long enough."
"I have nothing to say sir, " all this time he was ramrod straight, eyes forward. His boss was slowly approaching, his smile disappearing as he came closer.
"That's good, now go call the front desk, they can send the visitors in."
It had been a week now, the airstrip runway had been scrubbed clean and renovated, the men and women, a dozen to be exact had been buried, full military honors and all the pomp and color observed. The commander of the defence forces had flown to the burial ceremony and mourned with the rest of them. He had been the founder of the special operations wing of the northern command and had commanded the first squad of that venerated wing of the army. The special ops team had lost five team members among them sergeant Leonard, Derrick's right hand man.
Lieutenant Joan Mueni was in the field, she was sad but happy too, happy Derrick had survived and was getting better but sad she had lost friends and colleagues in the bombing. Bombing raids had been conducted against Al Shabaab after they had taken responsibility for the attack. Night special ops had followed and an operation was in the works to kill a senior Shabaab commander. She sighed and drank from a new water canteen, green, hard and light. Even her uniform was new, so were the boots, helmet, M-16 rifle and body armor. These had been made possible by a new budget passed weeks earlier increasing military spending by fifty billion shillings.
The afternoon heat was not as punishing as it usually was north of Mandera town, so close to the Ethiopian border they could smell it. The border was a brown streak, river Dawa, the natural demarcation separating the territories of Kenya and Ethiopia. Sometimes there were patrols, sometimes there were not. Today Joan's boss felt like sending Joan with a platoon to give her some 'field experience.' This was welcome to Joan, she needed time outside the base; that toxic place full of backstabbing, sexual deviants, sick men and women, jealousies and lassitude. Her platoon were following her at the head of the single file column, quietly chatting after days of mourning the dead. They were in green universal camouflage pattern combat uniform, lightly armed and relaxed, they expected no action.
They were doing routine checks on their radio and telecom towers, they could see the last tower over a green hill, the mood was calm, the winds cool and the river blissful as it glowed in the sun. Joan Mueni had twelve privates, one corporal, a sergeant and an engineering corps. second lieutenant with her. The engineer looked fifteen and reminded Joan of Derrick though this one had something lacking, he just did not have that killer instinct needed to thrive in the business of the state. They finally came to the final tower, before the gate to the small compound was opened, the radio crackled, the reception was perfect.
"Foxtrot to team eagle, do you read me? Over."
"Team eagle to foxtrot. Read you loud and clear, over, " she was the one in charge of the radio. Foxtrot was her immediate CO. Major Paul Gitau sounded distant.
"Proceed to location, coordinates to be sent, further instructions await there, over and out."
The fuck, she looked at her encrypted phone, the message was sent almost instantly, she fed it onto a tablet strapped to her wrist with extra bright interface. Her team were standing around waiting for the next move. The tablet declared they were close, just two kilometers north east, hugging the river banks as they went.
"Let's move, " her feet were starting to itch, what the hell was the CO up to?