- Pronouns
- He/Him, They/Them
Something a little different. An RP from the new continents and my separate nation there.
The heat is the first thing that greets the few passengers that exit the plane at Lucastown's airport. Stepping off a plane cooled by artificial air and onto the tarmac one cannot see more than 50 yards or so before the air hazes and clarity is lost. If you listen carefully you can literally hear the tarmac cooking beneath your feet, and those familiar with Lucastown wouldn't be surprised that the third largest employment sector is to repair and maintain the airport.
Those unfortunate enough to have disembarked here will have hurried to the terminal, only to find the ancient air conditioning unit was broken, and had been since the 60's. Check in was slow, and the assembled tourists, journalists and businesspeople were all sweating profusely. A single water cooler dispensed lukewarm water that was like to the coldest ice to the passengers, who were being cooked in a heat that one could only describe as oppressive.
Waiting to go through check in, one can look through the glass fronted building towards a row of idling taxi cabs and military Jeeps, ready to take the passengers to their various locations. My luggage collected, and with my photographer companion, I head out to one of the Jeeps, and get in, my journey begun.
Mbog District, Central Naizerre
Somehow, to my dismay, it's even hotter in the Jeep than outside it, and the soldiers don't make the journey any more pleasant. Reeking of body odour and various other bodily smells, I try to hide my distaste and breathe through my nose, trying to remember just who at the newspaper I had offended to get sent here. I look out the back window, shielding my eyes with a hand as I count the vehicles in the convoy. 3 military Jeeps, one truck full of soldiers, and two armoured cars with machine guns mounted on top.
The show of power makes me wonder just why President Roberts declared that the Naizerri Bush had been 'completely and utterly pacified' the week before. The Naizerri Bush War had barely made news back home, dismissed as just one of a hundred tribal conflicts in nations less advanced and civilized than my own. Today, however, I was about to see the effects of this conflict first-hand.
The village of Hasabu isn't particularly large nor particularly interesting. It, like hundreds of other villages in this nation, offers no real strategic value, no real industry and no real importance except to the 700 or so occupants of the fragile looking shacks that barely are worthy of the word 'building'. It is no different to any other village or town in the bush of this godforsaken country.
I first knew something was wrong in Hasabu when the driver's military radio burst into life, the armoured car ahead of us communicating back that there was smoke on the horizon. Straining to see, Gavin, the photographer who had barely spoken six words to me since we met before the journey to Naizerre, went to open the sun roof to get a picture, only to be pushed down by the officer with us, who spoke quickly in some language of the bush to him. I translated as best I could, and Gavin got the general message.
Stay down. Stay out of the way. Let us do our jobs.
Our convoy slowed to a halt just outside the village, the soldiers disembarking and setting up a perimeter and moving through Hasabu. I couldn't see much from my position, but I knew enough about these places to know that the silence was wrong. The air should've been heavy with music and the voices of men, women and children as they greeted the soldiers and foreign visitors, weary and hopeful at the same time. The only sound was the steady crackling of a fire nearby, and that soon put out.
The officer, a Sergeant Mbungu, opened the back door of the Jeep, and spoke in English, his accent heavy. "You, photographer and reporter, you will come and see." We got out gingerly, limbs that had been deadened by the drive slowly coming back to life. We followed the soldiers out into the village, and then we saw why it was so quiet.
All 700 inhabitants of the village were dead. Children, riddled with bullets, lay with parents who had died trying, in vain, to protect them. Women of all ages lay in various states of undress, raped and then killed, just one more outrage in a nation of such. "Pacified indeed." I muttered to myself as Gavin moved through Hasada, taking pictures with a cool detachment I was unable to imitate as I saw 5 young children, their chests caved in rifle butts. Vultures circled as I beckoned Gavin over to photograph them as I moved onwards through the settlement.
The soldiers hadn't checked all the buildings at the eastern end of the settlement, and I opened a door to find three corpses, their remains already partially eaten by scavengers. I retched as the pungent smell hit my nostrils and I back-pedalled quickly, gagging. I vomited on the ground, and bent double, before I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see the face of Sgt. Mbungu.
"Who did this?" I asked him.
"General Nassrau." Came the answer, "Formerly pro-Government. After he routed the rebel bushmen he wanted to become President. Naturally, Roberts didn't want to step aside, so Nassrau went, as you say, rogue. His men did this."
Three hours later, Mbog District, Central Naizerre
As we journeyed into the bush, the soldiers became more alert, more aware of the surroundings. Instead of an escort, they became soldiers in enemy territory, looking out for ambushes and traps. Gavin still had the look of indifference he had when he was photographing the dead villages. Whether that was hiding his real feelings or not, I didn't know. I, myself, was terrified. The combination of the massacred village and the fact that this was, even though the capital was less 100 miles away, very much hostile territory made this the most scared I'd ever been.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't know anything was wrong until the bomb went off. The explosion rocked the Jeep, almost causing it to roll, and two others followed immediately afterwards, completely destroying the armoured car in front. We were pulled from the vehicle and further down the convoy, only to be thrown to the ground as two rocket attacks destroyed the vehicles at the far end of the convoy.
The soldiers had disembarked from the truck quickly, but seemed dazed and confused, their cool demeanour lost in the chaos. More rockets rained down, and I was vaguely aware of being dragged away by two soldiers into the relative safety of a rock formation just yards away. Gavin was already there, as was Sergeant Mbungu, and armed men, none of them had been with convoy. Mbungu was smoking a cigar, and talking with one of these men, who was gesturing at me as he spoke.
The sounds of the battle continued, and the rocket attacks became more sporadic, until Mbungu nodded at a nearby 'soldier' and most of them left. The sounds of the battle intensified as it dawned on me that Mbungu wasn't fighting for the government, but against it. I yelled and tried to stand, only to have a rifle pointed at me and was pushed back down. Gavin looked at me and, for a moment, his façade slipped, and I could see he too was scared. For some perverse reason, this made me feel slightly better as I realised the battle had finished.
And I was a captive.