IV - A Hidden Talent
Moral weakness begets immoral decisions. The weakness of a leader is within their own mind, once consumed by a need for greed, a leader will often forget the importance that their position entails, to lead with earnest regard for followers, and the well being of what their responsible for. Most importantly the authority instilled in them by their position. When a leader has the loyal support of a class of peers, little will assuage that support, as long as a leader continues with the ability to rule, and control the lesser classes, and the general populace, they will not be defeated. The key to power usurpation is to sever the link of support between the ruling class, and the general populace.
When a leader is unable to lead any longer, they must be replaced. There is no substitute for inadequacy, except to remove the inadequate one. A leader must be strong, dedicated, charismatic, genuine to peers, and able to exemplify all these characteristics without hesitation, or signs of weakness.
A good leader must be willing to sacrifice everything, and all things. If you want to succeed as much as you want to breathe, you will be successful. You must be willing to bleed. You must be willing to fight. You must be willing to cast aside emotions. Emotions will cause you to fail. You must be willing to cast aside all those who will prevent you from achieving success, regardless of whom they are. Through any means, whatever is necessary, you must numb your core, and rebuff the weakness of heart.
A door outside his room opened, heavy boots could be heard on the hardwood flooring. Closer, and closer the sound got. There was a pound on the door, and the boots could be heard passing by, continuing down the corridor.
Abel shut the book, and placed it on a plain bed stand. He got up, and walked to the door. The room was plain, simple. Nothing but a beat up mattress strewn upon a simple cot, a plain table by the bed, and a high window. It was much like a cell, without a lock on the door.
He walked out of the room, and met several other recruits. They walked out into the courtyard, outside the barracks. Several rebels greeted them, and lined them up. A man approached the new recruits. He stood, hands linked behind his back. He overlooked the recruits.
"Three weeks you have been here now. You have already began your basic military training. Today you will begin your officer's training. You fifteen have been selected as officers," the man said, walking down the line, eyeing each as he passed by. "Do not question why you have been chosen, only accept that you have been chosen. Each of you will lead a squad. Your squads will consist of no more than a half dozen soldiers," the man stopped, and faced the line of recruits, "You will be responsible, and held accountable, for the successes, and failures of your individual squads. Weakness. Weakness is not a valid option in this position. You must be strong." He stops himself from speaking, "You will be hardened. Each of you must be willing to endure pain, both physically, and mentally."
"I am Captain Rambo. I am your company commander. You will answer to me, as I answer to my superiors. You will remember this, or I will help you remember it," he said sternly.
"You," Rambo pointed to a boy the recruits came to know as Jumon, "You, come here," he waved his hand slightly so to extract Jumon from the lineup, putting Jumon to stand on one side of him.
Rambo looked from side to side, eyeing down the rest of the fourteen of the boys. He pointed to another boy, next to Abel, the boys knew as Michael. He waved Michael over to stand on the side opposite Jumon. Rambo turned around to face the two recruits.
"You will fight each other. A show of a man's ability to lead, is to show his ability to win a melee if he needs to, and an overall worthiness to lead," Rambo said, as he turned to the rest of the boys. Jumon, and Michael looked at each other uneasily.
"You won't always have a weapon with you. You must learn to master weapons God has given you. For your subordinates to respect you, you must show them that you are ready to lead them, in all aspects of battle, including scrapping."
Rambo turned to Jumon, and Michael, again. He slapped Michael so hard that he fell to the ground, clearly unexpecting the slap. Michael held his face, and got back up, looking at Rambo blankly.
"Do not look at me, fool," Rambo said, pointing at Jumon, "He is the one who slapped you. Kick his ass."
Michael looked to Jumon, who was in a sort of a shock from what was going on. Jumon glanced from Rambo to Michael, and back, clearly not wanting to fight. Michael had a fury in his eyes. He lashed out punching Jumon in the face. Jumon hit the ground, backing up, stumbling over his feet trying to pick himself up, he turned back to Michael who ran at him to land another strike. Jumon put his head down, and charged at Michael, planting his right shoulder on Michael's waist, he scooped his arms behind Michael's legs. Michael landed two punches at Jumon's back, as he slowly lost his upright balance, Jumon successfully lifted both of Michael's legs off the ground and dropped Michael on his back, tumbling on top of him. Michael continued to throw strikes at Jumon's unprotected body. Jumon grabbed Michael's striking arm, and pulled it over his body, preventing any form of leverage to strike, Jumon began to strike Michael in the face, both men were bleeding at this point, Rambo grabbed Jumon, and forcibly threw him backwards, causing Jumon to fall flat on his back. Michael rose to his feet quickly, and attempted to continue attacking a fallen Jumon, but Rambo grabbed Michael by his hair, and threw him back to the ground.
"Enough!" He said, turning back to the rest of the recruits. "You must get pissed off. That is how you will engage the rage within you. You must learn to control this rage. Harness it to your benefit. It will give you the adrenaline rush you need to defeat your opponent," he looked to Jumon, and then Michael, and back to the rest of the recruits, "These pansies are done. Now, who is next."
Rambo pointed out, and selected two more recruits from the bunch, sending Jumon, and Michael back, the two of them looking at each other angrily, but lining themselves back up.
Tristan, and James both moved to the front, and another fight ensued, began by Rambo. Boys after boys, pairs were randomly matched and put to fight one another, continuously, sometimes a boy had to fight back to back with another selection.
Abel was now selected. Put to face the other recruit whom had not yet fought, the boy went by the name Ernest. Rambo eyed down Abel, recognizing him as Caesar's chosen protege, a fact well known to the other captains by this point. Still, he seemed indifferent to Abel.
"Here's a real treat," he smiled, stepping aside, as Ernest, and Abel faced each other.
Ernest looked at Abel, but did not hesitate long before charging at him, with no particular strategy but to engage his foe. Abel stood ready, waiting to receive the first strike from Ernest, who lazily threw his clenched fist forwards, aiming straight at Abel's head. Abel tilted his head right, and brushed aside the strike, with his right hand grabbing Ernest's extended right forearm. He struck Ernest in the left side of his stomach, with his own clenched left fist, as he passed by him. Ernest lost his balance, and held his stomach, the wind knocked out of him. Abel circled around back, as Ernest turned to face him, Abel did not continue a fury of assault. Ernest gathered wind for a few moments, before taking a left hook at Abel. Abel put up his right arm, blocking the strike from proceeding further, and he connected a straight jab with his left fist, connecting to Ernest's face. Blood exploded down from Ernest's nose, as he fell to the ground, falling back over his collapsed legs. He did not get up, instead holding his face, the blood seeping through his hands, getting all over him.
Rambo took off his sun glasses, and squinted in disbelief, at Abel. He snapped his fingers and pointed to Omry, one of the boys whom had beat two others already. Omry eyed Abel with a loathsome hatred, and hustled to position himself opposite Abel. He raised both his hands, in a boxer-like stance, ready to engage Abel.
Abel watched Omry, but did not bother to create a show like him.
Rambo turned to the rest of the boys, "The championship!" He said, placing his shades back on.
"Go," he said quietly enough for the close vicinity of recruits to here.
Omry smiled, and nodded his head at Abel, trying to instigate him to make the first move. When Abel did not move, Omry slowly crept forward, hopping slightly, trying to mimic a boxer about to initiate a fight. He playfully circled Abel, Abel turning just slightly when required to face Omry, who was hopping around, dancing with his feet, creating a show for onlookers. Some gathered rebels cheered him on, Kill that pink skin, Beat his ass, two of the chants heard repeated were. The other recruits just looked on, rubbing, and tending to their wounds in their own ways.
Omry finally lashed out without warning, except to Abel whom watched him carefully, and he jabbed several times, Abel just backing up enough to dodge them, without making any retaliatory strikes. Then Omry became overconfident, must like Ernest, and threw all his might into one lunging punch, while Abel swiped his arm aside, pushing it forward slightly with his right hand, so as to bolster the momentum in the punch, until in a moment, Omry's face approached Abel's body, and Abel struck back with his might, he drew his guiding hand in, extending his elbow towards Omry's face, then bashed it, using Omry's own momentum to increase the force of impact, Abel connected to Omry's nose, causing an unexpected whelp of pain, the strike leading to a similar outcome with that of Ernest, causing a stream of blood to poor from Omry's face, as Omry dropped down immediately to his knees, trying to balance his body in the unexpected situation, when Abel looked to the cheering rebels, now silent, and he grabbed a defenseless Omry by the hair, using both hands on each side of his head, he pulled Omry's head in, driving his knee cap straight to Omry's face, another whelp could be heard, echoing the first one, as Omry dropped to the ground, unconscious. None of the onlookers had any form of emotion, except a form of silent disbelief.
Rambo took his shades off again, an emotion of surprise strewn upon his face, in an awkward expression. He turned to the other recruits, many of them with their eyes wide, and he turned back to Abel, "What the f k was that," he asked.
"Martial arts," he said quietly, and emotionless.
Rambo smiled with a very sinister grin, "It seems Caesar has made a wise choice, after all," He said, laughing, "The pink skin warrior," he continued jokingly, as Abel returned back to the lineup.
Before Rambo could speak, Caesar appeared from a group of onlookers, clapping, and laughing. "I see you have met our prodigy, Captain," he said to Rambo. "Abel is a prime example of the type of youth troop officer we need in our ranks."
Caesar faced the recruits, "Return to your rooms. Officer initiation is over, for today." He looked to Abel, "Except you. Come here."
Rambo waved on some rebels to usher the boys back to their rooms. They had been segregated now, from the regular recruits.
Rambo then joined Caesar, and Abel, as they walked back to the camp command building.
Caesar turned to Rambo, "Did I not tell you this one was a special one?" He turns to Abel and smiles, "A true hidden leader." He turns again to Rambo, "Just need to chip away some rough edges, but he will be a powerful addition to the revolution."
Abel remained emotionless, as the three men arrived at the command building. Outside the building, there was three military vehicles. They were government army vehicles. There was a full regalia government soldier mounting a machine gun on the top of the central APC, there were two more sitting in a jeep in front, and two visible in a closed in APC, in the back.
Caesar continued inside, waving in Abel. Rambo stayed outside the building, with several other rebel soldiers, all carrying their weapons, including one with an RPG. It was an uneasy confrontation, Abel noticed. Inside the building, there stood a fully dressed government officer, standing opposite a man Abel did not recognize, but the half dressed military man was common among the rebels. He was talking to the officer, but he moved aside, and stood silent when Caesar passed by the officer, and to his desk, where he arranged some papers.
"Yu owa debwey. Wi gita pay na na," the officer said sharply to Caesar.
"Yuwa arm in da ritri. Yu da no deman of mi, Cap'n," Caesar barked back quickly.
The captain puts his clenched fists on the desk, and leans over it putting his face close to Caesar's, "Mayu da ron wan ta negoti wit, eh? Maymi tak da arm, n plan a offen wit da Mende hunts? If yu na pay, a wa da greemen'," He leans closer to Caesar's face.
Abel watched it all unfold, he did not speak much Creole, the hardest part understanding was how fast it was spoken, but he made out the gist of the conversation, for himself.
Caesar looked right back at the captain, an inch or two away, the two men's faces were separated. He put his hand on the hilt of his sidearm. It was dead silent in the room, the two men stared each other down. Caesar removed the safety on his gun, not breaking eye contact with the army captain.
The captain's eyes shifted to Caesar's sidearm, and then back to Caesar. He smiled, and withdrew his stance in the intense stare down, keeping a stern expression, he says, "Dis na ov. Dis mayu hom, but dis na ov, Cees. I be bak, yu con a da," the captain backed away. A guard's hand was on the hilt of his AK47, as he had it facing the bottom half of lesser army officer, the two men in a stare down of their own.
"Yu wa b payu, Cap'n, as pa da greemen'. Ba yu com he 'gin an tem ta dispe mi, I promiyu b sorsor," Caesar said, placing the safety back on his sidearm, and removing his hand from it, "Na git de fu'k ah."
The army captain snapped his finger, and his subordinate followed him out of the building, the captain looked to one rebel guard standing on the side of the room, trading uneasy stares, then he walks by Abel, whom he is drastically taller than, and Abel eyes him back. The officer doesn't break his furious expression, and keeps walking out. Slight commotion could be heard as the two men entered their vehicles, a trade of words between the rebels and the army soldiers, and then the vehicles began to drive off, all visible through the screen door, at the entrance of the building. Caesar was busy collecting more papers, and made some small talk with the man next to his desk, before looking up to Abel, "Come here, boy."
Abel walked over to the desk. The other man eyed him down, and Caesar spoke, "This is Abel, my boy protege," he said smiling, and raising his hand to reference to the man, "This is Uwengi, my adjutant. He has arrived to assist in the administration of the camp."
The man reached out to shake hands with Abel, meeting hands, the man's grasp was very firm, he had no emotion on his face.
"This is the boy protege? A pink skin?"
Caesar laughed, "I told you he was special, Usengi," he giggles again.
"Does he speak?," Usengi asked.
"I do." Abel spoke up, before Caesar could respond.
Caesar looked up smiling, "He does."
"How does a pink skin end up in this situation?" Usengi asked Abel.
"Just lucky, I guess," he responded.
Uwengi looks to Caesar and laughs hysterically, before he takes his leave, and walks out of a side door of the office.
Caesar watches him go, and says to Abel, "He's a short man, don't mind that."
Abel brushes it off and speaks, "Who were those men?"
"Soldiers, in the army." Caesar pauses, realizing he needed to explain it better, "Well, the civilians, and the Kamajors call them 'sobels'. Soldiers by day, rebels by night. With all the chaotic instability of politics, in Freetown, much of the army isn't getting paid properly. So commanders, like that one, try to make deals with us. Personally, I do not fear the army, so I don't see such deals as necessary, but my superiors do, so I abide by the agreements. These scoundrels are more like mercenaries."
Abel thinks back to when the R.U.F. attacked Lumba, and the army soldiers stationed there fled, without a fight, before even the rest of them could flee. He thought maybe the soldiers at Lumba were 'sobels', the thought infuriated him, seeing so many of his friends die that day, but he had to cast aside the hatred, if he was committed to surviving this.
"Now, that was an impressive performance in the fighting group," he pauses, "Now, tell me, why keep that hidden until now? The lot of them respect a good fighter. You could have earned respect weeks ago."
"I did what I needed to today. If you want me to fight, I fight. If one day I must lead, then I must lead. But I don't have to like it."
Caesar looked up, cross with the tone Abel used, "Don't forget your place. You may be a favored boy here in the camp, but you have attitude like that with lots of the boys here, you better know how to fight, or they will likely cut your throat, without a thought. Don't mistake my generosity for weakness, Abel. Now get out of here," he was certainly unimpressed by Abel's brashness.
Abel took a deep, silent breath, and turned, leaving the building through the front door.
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Biarchus
Histories of a Boy Soldier (Ch. XVI - 05/30)
Wrinkly Wordsmith
Sugar free
Grote Smurf
Originally Posted by robinzx
Good start - very unusual premise but I think you're handling it well. Look forward to more.
Senator
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