The Soldier
After what seemed like an eternity the soldier’s watch began as twilight finally faded into night, night illuminated by the dim light of the fading moon that shone through clouds that looked like big cotton bolls. If you were an observer on this cold night you’d see the solitary silhouette of a thin soldier facing the street,with his back on a bastion of sand filled cement bags. Here and there in the distance, through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, as did the sound of dogs barking, spasmodically yet somewhat rhythmic.
The soldier stared into space for a while, when he stirred, his movements were minimal and assured. Placing a cigarette between his lips, he fumbled with his uncooperative lighter till it worked,inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. He had picked up smoking on this tour, his maiden tour, not for the nicotine rush,breathing in and out steadied his nerves. The single orange glow flicked for a few minutes till it was extinguished under the soldier’s boot.
He remembered when he got his orders“report at command Maiduguri on monday morning at 0800 hours for further instructions”,how he showed neither enthusiasm nor regret- merely straightened, gave a sharp salute and exited the office. At that point he made peace with his mortality- the inevitable.
Like most men who claim to have made peace with the grim reaper a part of him still hoped this cup would pass him by. Beneath his fatigues and the stern front he wore was a man,a scared nineteen year old whose bible naturally fell apart at the twenty-third psalm- so often had he run his finger down that page.“The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…Yea,though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”
That last day before he shipped off, they ate on the veranda of their house by lamplight. He had never been so conscious of every detail- the dented stainless steel plates and cups, the familiar homy smell of the air, the unreadable eyes of his father, the obvious gloom on his mother’s face, the childish innocence of his only surviving sibling- a two year old happy for the feast, her brother’s last supper. He could barely recognise his parents, he was sure his parents did not recognise the shell of his former self that he had morphed into. Death takes not only the soul of the deceased,it can destroy the souls of those left behind.
His younger brothers, three of them, and sixty other boys in their school were kidnapped and most likely murdered by boko haram but it didn’t make the news. Probably because no male former minister cares, or maybe because its war;men and boys are meant to die in war, only women and children deserve a pass in this world of equality and male bias. #bringbackourboys would not sound so heartfelt, it would fail to stir up enough emotions and sympathy. Boys are already too celebrated you see, besides they’d grow up and become men who would break hearts and rape women,no, don’t mention kidnapped or murdered boys.
His watch was always peaceful, surely goodness and mercy had followed him. The hours trickled by. If he had a watch with a digital display it would have read02:10, and so far he had not seen any sign of life on the street, not even the occasional early rising sheep or nocturnal stray dog.
Suddenly across the street from the abandoned building that was once a car wash, in the direction he was facing he saw a flash as a shot rang out shattering the silence around him. Quickly he dived backward in a half somersault behind the rampart, and with his right hand he felt the injured left fore-arm. The blood was gushing out at a rate of knots, oozing through the sleeve of his fatigue.
He tore his sleeve with his pocket knife and quickly made a tourniquet, tying the ends with his teeth. A paroxysm of pain swept through him. Pain was good and welcomed, it meant he was alive.
The soldier quickly‘killed’the two-way radio. He knew his team would call-in to find out if he was hit if they were close enough to hear the shot. Chances were they weren’t. Even then he expected the routine check-ins. He couldn’t afford the noise,the distraction, he also would not be able to speak, his assailant might be assuming it was a fatal shot and move on quickly, hearing him talking would take away any thoughts it was.
Armed, he peeped through a hole and saw on his 9 O’clock a white Hilux with its headlights OFF approaching his position. The Hilux stopped down the street. The soldier could hear the dull panting of the motor. In the dim light he made out two men, hostiles, approaching him. His heart beat faster.
Closing his eyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain. He also said a short prayer,“dear Jesus, I accept you as my lord and saviour, if I die please take me to heaven. Please let them recover my corpse and grant my commanders the fortitude to announce my death at least,do not allow my death to be covered up,let me not die in vain”.Then he fired, two quick shots. The first caught the taller hostile square on the chest, he fell without as much as a murmur. The other hostile returned fire panicking, no bullet even remotely got close to the soldier-his target. He turned and made for the white Hilux. The soldier fired again. The second hostile whirled round and fell with a shriek. The white Hilux turned and retired speedily,illuminating the path its now ON headlights shone on.
Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the bulwark. The soldier saw the shooter across the road. He had picked a perfect spot, well covered and he was obviously a good shot. A formidable opponent. His heart skipped a beat and then raced. He saw a flash and a bullet whizzed past his head. He dropped immediately.
The soldier lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm. The bullet had gone through his hand. Morning must not find him here, morning was too far, he didn’t have another thirty minutes here. The white Hilux could return with reinforcements, he had to kill the hostile across the road,find cover and call for extraction. Again he prayed, and at once he felt at peace with himself. Then he thought of a plan, an escape plan.
The soldier took off his cap and placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. He raised the rifle slowly over the bastion till the cap was visible from the opposite of the street. Almost immediately a bullet tore through the middle of the cap. He dropped his rifle backwards, accompanied by a scream loud enough to wake the dead.
A few minutes passed, minutes that seemed like hours to him. He slowly raised himself, grinding his teeth to overcome the pain. His ruse had worked, the hostile across the street was on his feet,stretching, happy he had killed his man.
The soldier smiled and took aim. He bit his lips together till he drew blood trying to calm his rising nerves. His hand trembled with eagerness. If only he could have a few puffs. He pressed his lips together, took a deep breath through his nostrils and fired.
The enemy across the road fell as soon as his shoulder felt the recoil from the bullet exiting the gun’s chamber. The soldier prayed for the third time-for forgiveness.
On his way tocoverthe soldier felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of the enemy he had killed. It would take less than a minute to see the face of the devil so he took the risk.
The soldier turned over the dead body and in the dim light on this cold june night, the soldier looked into his immediate younger brother’s face.
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