Non-Fiction
Ambushed in Congo*
The FNI militias operated from their hideouts at Datule, located north of Kafe. The militias were causing so much of tension and difficulties for the Bangladeshi camps as well as for the Hema refugees that they had to be stopped. A raid on the FNI camp at Datule was ordered from the Sector HQ at Bunia. Bangladeshi troops carried out the operations on the FNI camps and could capture about thirty militias with their weapons and ammunitions. However, most of the militia, about four hundred of them, could escape with their arsenals. They took shelter in the hill of Ndriki, further north.
Immediately after their capture, Ntini Cona, the FNI militia commander, demanded that the Bangladeshi contingent release the detainees along with their arms and ammo. He threatened that if his demands were not met, the Bangladeshi unit would face third world war.
Two days later, he fulfilled his promise.
****
The situation of the refugees around the Bangladeshi camp was beyond words. Hundreds of unfed Hemas lived under the open sky. A loaf of bread was shared by as much as fifty people. Children died incessantly. Without any help from outside, these hapless people would vanish in a matter of days. The rugged terrain made it extremely difficult to arrange the supply of food, clothes and shelter. A helicopter landing site had to be located as soon as was possible. A small recon team was asked to locate suitable high ground for helicopters to land and deliver humanitarian assistance.
So, on February the 25th, very early in the morning, Captain Shahid set out from Kafe, leading a nine-men patrol team. Their destination was the hill of Ndriki. They tagged the local interpreter along, just in case.
The weather was extremely humid that day. The patrol walked their way through the rugged hilly ground. Their speed was limited--a combined effect of the weather and the terrain. Their vision was limited too, due to the tall elephant grass covering the entire area. Shahid had his radio operator walking beside him. He was asked to contact the base camp in case a backup was needed, the possibility of which didn't even remotely appear in his mind...
Near the top of Ndriki, there was a small, leveled surface. Shahid asked his weary soldiers to rest. He would venture a little ahead and look for some suitable helicopter landing site, he told his mates. He then took his radio operator along and marched forward. Behind, the rest of the team was left to recuperate.
"One four. Message, over," Shahid contacted his base.
"Send your message, over."
"One four, location 988089," Shahid read the grid reference from his GPS.
"Roger! Update every thirty minutes."
"Wilco! Will take Route A naught (sic) back."
About a hundred yards away, a man in worn-out olive uniform with an AK-47 hanging from his shoulder, saw Shahid and his operator from the adjacent hill. They were Bangladeshi, he was sure. Their bright green camouflage couldn't be mistaken. He slowly departed his observation post. He had to inform his comrades of this fortunate discovery.
Shahid and his radio operator looked around for a while. About twenty yards ahead, they found a plain open land, with no vegetation and trees--a perfect helicopter landing site. A few strokes of the scythe and the tiny undergrowth would be gone. The UN could send supplies for the Hema refugees crowding around the camp.
Unbekownst to these two men, the reverse slope of the Ndriki hill had already sprung to life--unexpectedly happy, sinisterly in a mood for celebration. The news of their enemy in the area, under-strength and spent, had spread in seconds. Their perpetually loaded weapons were cocked, extra magazines stowed in pouches, grenades hooked to their belts. Hundreds of Lendu militias warmed themselves up for revenge. Mortars were placed strategically. Soldiers gathered for last minute consultation. No less than a river of blood would do.
Shahid sat under a small tree. Beside him sat Private Salaam, his radio operator. Both drank from their canteens of water. They were so thirsty that they could pour the entire Congo River down their throats.
About fifty yards back, the rest of the recon team rested with half-closed eyes.
The militias slowly crept and closed in for the assault. Salaam had just opened his helmet to lighten the load on his head. A sharp hiss in the air and Shahid heard a thump at his back. A bullet had just missed him and hit a tree. Both the men looked at each other for a split second and before they could dash down to the ground, a red hole materialized on Salaam's forehead. He suddenly jerked and fell backwards.
"Down," Shahid yelled at his men resting behind. The sudden shower of bullets confused the patrol Everybody lay pasted to the ground as sheets of bullets flew overhead, deafening their ears and senses.
"One four, one four, man down, man down!" Shahid screamed over the radio. His operator had ceased breathing. A trail of blood trickled from his wounds.
"One four, WHAT?" Captain Sharif from the base camp at Kafe was taken aback.
"Salaam's been hit. Need backup. NOW. FNI closing in, F N I."
"One four, repeat and update status!"
"Hell with you! We are surrounded, I repeat SURROUNDED. Location Ndriki 988089. Salaam's gone. Do you read me?"
There was static over the network and the base camp couldn't read the last message clear.
"One four, repeat last message."
"Shahid, are you there? Shahid?"
Shahid looked at his operator for a moment. A pool of blood had formed below his head. His mouth--half opened, his face--still bearing the trace of surprise. Shahid closed the parted lids of Salaam's eyes. A loud explosion at his back warned him to take cover. Another mortar shell dropped by him and he felt a splinter tear through this right arm. The rest of the recon patrol had already begun responding. Their arsenal was no match for the automatics and RPGs of the opponent.
"One four, one four," the base camp operator was trying hysterically to contact the patrol under fire. Captain Sharif had by that time led out a backup patrol from the base camp to rescue Shahid's recon team. An attack helicopter, already dispatched from the HQ for Ndriki, would lift them en-route. Sharif was apprehensive--the spot was a tiring three-hour journey from Kafe and the patrol under fire didn't have enough ammunitions to survive that long.
Back atop the hill of Ndriki, Shaid took the radio and slowly began crawling back to his men. The intensity of the firing had swelled. His own magazines had already gone empty. Halfway through his crawl, he popped his head up. The thick curtains of elephant grass restricted his sight within inches. He wanted to fight back as long as he could, though deep down he knew it probably was too late. A bullet came through the glass blades and hit his shoulders. He was thrown on his back.
"One four, one four, been hit," Shahid mumbled over his radio. The communication was back for the moment.
"Oh God! Hang on, Shahid. Few more minutes. MI-17 on the way." Sharif knew his assurance would be no good for his dying comrades.
The recon patrol's response to the mayhem slowly waned. Their ammunitions and grenades were spent. Half an hour of intense gunfight had eroded their last defense. The Lendus were closing in fast. A few mortar shells and RPG rockets were fired that landed like apocalyptic thunderbolts around them. The promised third world war was unleashed when they least expected it.
Shahid lay on the ground, cringing and moaning in mortal pain. He was losing his strength. Breathing seemed like the most difficult thing in the world. With every intake of air, springs of blood spurted out. In that last moment on earth, he heard the footsteps of the Lendus, slashing through the thick grass covers. His vision slowly blurred, his eyelids struggling to stay open, he choked and grimaced. More footsteps nearby. The grass swaying side to side. His shaking hands lifted the radio transmitter. His blood-filled mouth painfully brought near; his distended lips quivered.
"One four," Shahid called the other end.
"Shahid, are you there?" Captain Sharif inquired from his patrol. His radio was set in (sic) the same frequency.
An excruciating silence followed.
"One four report?"
The last remnant of his strength was slowly fading. "Inna lillahi wa inna ilaishi rajeun," Shahid's last words waved through the air and Sharif on the other end stood silent for a moment. The Islamic last rite publicized his friends own obituary. Everything went blank thereafter like the death that betook Shahid's soul.
The Lendus ran towards their awaited prey. Five of the Bangladeshi soldiers had already died. The remaining four were severely wounded. The gang found Shahid's lifeless body on their way. They dragged him by his legs. A couple of feet ahead, the militias found two other wounded Bangladeshi soldiers lying on their backs with their weapons pointed at them--their triggers pulled and the hammer smashing on their rifles' empty chamber incessantly. The only thing that left the muzzle was not bullet but revulsion--not enough to deter the beastly militias from slashing their scimitars through the dying Bangladeshis' throats.
Another man was found behind the cover of a tree. He had been pierced by RPG splinters in the abdomen. Before he could lift his hand, presumably as his last form of defense, a militia put his automatic inside his mouth. His brains splattered over the ground the next moment.
Nine bodies were hauled in the middle of an opening. They were robbed of their uniforms and weapons. Ntini Cona, the FNI commander, donned the blood-soaked jacket of Captain Shahid. He emptied twenty rounds of his magazine on the dead, making their faces difficult to identify. Before he left, he ordered his men to burn them, as if their deaths fell much short of quenching his thirst for revenge...
*Extract from The Peacekeeper: A Novel reviewed below.
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