~ Emma's Camp ~

by

Stuart Ford

I leaned over close to Vincent’s ear and whispered.

"Where’s Andrew?"

"About a mile up. I came back to flag you down here where the car would be under cover."

I looked back; a small stand of acacias shielded the car from view. I hadn’t even noticed the significance of where Vincent had stopped me. Bill was now standing next to us. He spoke to Vincent.

"What have we got?"

"There are six bad men in the village down there. They’re getting drunk on the tribe’s beer. It seems they had an argument with the headsmen. They’ve shot him and left his body lying out in the open in the village. They’re stopping the tribe going to the body. It is gruesome, James. They are also raping one of the women."

I jumped in. "Why haven’t you stopped it or called the army?"

Vincent shook his head in frustration. After a pause, he continued.

"Just after we arrived…we saw a truck pull in. It was the local army patrol. They gave the bad men ammunition in exchange for cigarettes and alcohol. It seems that we cannot trust the army. We can’t ask them for help. They’ve gone now but they’re just as likely to shoot us if we call them back in, or at least that’s what Andrew said."

I was furious.

"Goddamn, I thought we had gotten past all that."

Vincent should his head sadly.

"It seems we failed. They’re obviously being bribed. It is often the way here."

Corruption is endemic in Africa, as common as famine and disease. Trying to fight it is like trying to swat a swarm of locusts. The moment you kill one, there are millions to replace it. I worried at it like a dog at a bone.

"So why are we here?"

Vincent gripped my shoulders hard, restraining me.

"It’s Bayele down there, James, or at least we think it is from Sammie and your descriptions."

I pushed at Vincent trying to get past him, but Vincent held me strong. Bayele was the leader of the gang that had kidnapped Sammie and Emma. Bayele had let my Emma die. I wanted to kill him badly--slowly, so I could watch him suffer. Vincent went on.

"That’s why Andrew came, I couldn’t stop him. He has his own score with Bayele, the big mystery he would never tell us. That’s also why he didn’t want you to come; he thinks you won’t be able to control yourself."

Bill grunted.

"I’ve read the file... maybe this is the revenge you wanted, James."

"Why didn’t you tell me, Vincent? Why wouldn’t you speak on the radio?"

Vincent grinned.

"Andrew wouldn’t let me. He said our voices would carry, but I think he didn’t want you to know."

I made my decision. I saw Vincent was carrying a hunting rifle; I swapped with him. He would be more use with an SLR than I would.

"What are we waiting for? Let’s go and get the bastard!"

"We have to take our time, James. We are outnumbered, and they have automatic weapons. When they pass out from the drink, we can go in. They don’t know we’re watching them and we want to keep it that way. From here on, no more talking--Andrew’s orders."

Bill chimed in, "Andrew’s right. Silence from here is important. Let’s go and see what we’ve got, shall we?"

Bill had the same self-assurance that Andrew did; he was confident in his skills. My heart had begun to race. I had never been in a firefight. I hoped my courage wouldn’t fail me. We went forward Indian file with Vincent leading. We walked silently, not willing to give up the element of surprise. It wasn’t long before we came to a bluff that overlooked the village below us. Andrew was there, laconic grin intact. He nodded in greeting and signaled for us to lie down and crawl towards his position. He motioned us to be silent. We acquiesced to his order, but I knew I would have this out with him when this was all over. He was a maverick, and in a tight-knit unit like ours, that put us all in danger.

I crept forward to the edge of the bluff, clumsily and slowly. I felt like the twelfth man in a game of cricket, unnecessary and unwanted. I looked down; it was barely a village, more a brief stop for a nomadic tribe. An impromptu fence of thorns and branches to keep out predators marked the edge of the camp. There was a small cluster of huts, thrown together with mud and dung with thatched leaves serving for roofs. There were a few goats tethered inside the fence and the odd cow, the lifeblood of the African, carefully hobbled to stop them straying. In the dancing light of the cooking fires, I could see dark shadows as people passed. I was having difficulty determining detail until my night vision adapted to the tricks the firelight played. I looked at Andrew in question; I couldn’t see either the body or the terrs on first inspection. He smiled and shook his head as a condemnation of my lack of ability. He made a gesture with his fingers like the vee of a snake’s tongue and pointed towards a hut at the back of the village. I strained and concentrated and eventually the picture began to make sense.

It was the largest of the huts, set a little away from all the others. I assumed it was the home of the head of the tribe. I could see a huddle at the edge of the shadows; it could have been a man sleeping but given what Vincent had told me I assumed it was the dead chief. There was a group of men at the sitting cross-legged at the entrance of the hut. They were passing a bottle back and forth amongst them. My heart picked up pace; those were obviously the terrs. I tried to determine the detail in their faces, but at this distance and in the dark all I could see was light from the fire casting reflections on their faces. I heard a woman’s scream from inside the hut, and my guts churned. It was a scream of pain and fear. I had heard similar sounds in the slaughter house. I swallowed back the bitter bile that threatened to erupt from my stomach. I could see no sign of that evil cur, Bayele. I waited and I watched. Africa had taught me about patience and perseverance.

I didn’t have to wait long. A man came out of the hut, zipping his trousers and laughing with the others. He gestured to one of the men to go inside the hut and took the bottle for a drink. I could tell the group was drinking to get drunk. I heard loud, raucous laughter. They were obviously celebrating or self-congratulating themselves. It wasn’t long before I heard the scream of the woman again from inside the hut; they were taking turns to violate her. The man who had come out of the hut walked over to the fire to light a cigarette, and I saw my nemesis, Bayele. There was no mistaking him. Someone had once cut him with a knife from forehead to cheek on the left side of his face. It had left him with a nasty scar and a droopy eye. He had been lucky enough to keep his sight but the scar made his face an easy one to remember.

I gripped the rifle tightly and brought it up to my eye. I could see his head clearly silhouetted through the sights and my fingers moved to the trigger. This man kidnapped my wife and child. My wife had died trying to get Sammie away from him. This beast had stolen my life away. I had the ability by pulling the trigger to gain some satisfaction from revenge and to stop him ever being able to do that to someone else. I felt a hand pressing the barrel down, and I looked up into Andrew’s face. He was shaking his head and mouthing no. I was shaking; I had left the world there for a second. All I had been aware of was the tight focus of the rifle sight and the pressure on the trigger. Andrew gestured me back from the edge; I crawled back and the others followed. I felt weak and light-headed; my heart was beating so fast, I was almost fibrillating.

Vincent reached over and patted my shoulder; he felt my pain and frustration. I had contemplated murder; it had left me emotionally spent. I had been ready to kill a man without trial or jury, to execute a human being summarily. I knew white-hot rage had flowed through my veins and overridden my judgment. I was a mild-mannered ex-architect and safari camp owner, behaving like a comic-book action character. My anger had been so intense as to be unmanageable. I would have not only committed murder but put my friends at risk. The tears came, salty and bitter. I fought hard to hold them back, but I could not deny them. I would have made myself no better than Bayele; a bush executioner behaving like a God deserving the recrimination of law. I damned myself and I damned Bayele; my hatred of him was so strong that it overrode my natural morals. He would make me a murderer; marked by blood and anger. I was better than this and I was ashamed that my base self had taken over. There was no defense that I could offer other than my personal and petty need for revenge--a poor excuse for any man. I tried to steady my breathing and to halt the tears. It was a hard task but after a few minutes, I regained control. The others waited on me; leaving me to fight my way out of my private hell. I nodded that I was back. Once again, Vincent reached over and squeezed my arm. We formed into a circle on our bellies, our heads close like a formation skydiving team. Andrew began the briefing; he whispered loud enough for us to hear but low so his voice wouldn’t carry.

"Well it’s our old friend Bayele and his crew down there. All we have to do is wait, eh? They’re happily getting loaded; when they pass out, we can go in. We don’t want to kill them, though God knows it would feel good."

He spat and looked at me. I nodded but stayed quiet. I didn’t trust my anger not to re-erupt.

"Bill and I have the most experience with this stuff. Vincent you stay back with James and run backup for us. Okay?"

Vincent nodded and grinned at me. Once again, I was the team loser they had to protect from myself.

"When I call it, Bill and I will go in and get them under control. Vincent, you run mop-up for any we miss. They’re not going to go quietly, so we need to prepare for the fact that there will more than likely be a firefight. You two try to get some sleep. Bill and I will hammer out the details and wake you when we’re good to go."

I crawled off; I needed some personal space anyway. I lay on my back looking at the night sky sprinkled with stars like loose diamonds on a black velvet cloth. I thought about Sammie; she wasn’t stupid, she would have figured it out with us all gone. I made a mental note to apologize to her tomorrow. I thought about Emma; I had missed going to the lake tonight but I am sure she would understand. I also thought about Em; I wouldn’t be there to drive her to the plane. I hated to part with so many things unresolved, but maybe it was for the best. I must have nodded off because the next thing I knew Vincent was prodding me to wake up. I struggled to come to my senses. It was first light and the sky looked like a bruise on a thigh, purple and threatening.

I whispered, "Time to go?"