Chapter XIII - Weeding Out the Turncoats
To sustain leadership, one mustn't hesitate to enact a brutal, and methodical form of leadership, to instill obedience in his ranks. The institution of extreme forms of punishment, zero tolerance for insubordination, and the continuation of often repetitive, but necessary training regimen, was the key to success.
Violence only begets more violence. However, violence is the test of one man’s will to go beyond what is considered morally acceptable by the sheep standards of a weak society. One must be willing to assert absolute control, and dominance in order to ensure his continued leadership.
Empires are forged by what is morally considered questionable violent initiatives…
There was a knock at the door. Abel had his legs crossed, and he kept his body several inches off the ground, with his arms, held up straightly, upon clenched fists. He lowered his body, and uncrossed his legs, pushing himself up, while closing R.U.F. leader, Foday Sankoh’s book.
“What is it.” Abel blurted, annoyed by the interruption.
A young boy entered. “Sorry, Captain. An urgent message from Lungi, it’s on your desk for you, Sir.”
Abel waved the boy away with a blatant swat motion, with his arm. The boy saluted immediately, and withdrew from the doorway, and down the hall.
Abel walked slowly to the back of his room. It was a relatively simple room for his position as commanding officer at the junction base, but he didn't covet the luxurious accommodations that many other rebels attempted to obtain. For him, it was respect. Honor. Duty. He viewed his stance as cliche as it sounds, but he felt strongly about the opportunity he had been given.
He looked out his window, right out to the thick forest behind the building, and he wondered, was his family okay? Were they still in Moyamba, protected by the Kamajors, and government forces there? How was his brother, Jon? Where was he? Was he still in Lungi? Had his unit been re-positioned Or worse perhaps… There were too many questions he needed answering, but no time to truly consider the outcomes fully, himself. He had a lot of weight on his shoulders, especially in the next few weeks, and he needed to persevere in the tests ahead. There was no way back, he had already considered the options, but narrowed the decisions down to one. He must move forward. He is not the boy he was, seven months earlier, when he was captured, and integrated into the ranks of the R.U.F.
He looked up into the sky. It had been a clear day, and the sky was blue, with few clouds. It was yet another hot day, now April. He was within weeks of his thirteenth birthday, yet his experience the past few months had convinced him he was twice that. He had so much responsibility before him, yet he couldn’t fail now.
He snapped out of his own deep thought trance, and placed the book inside the open drawer, and shut it closed. He went to the hook behind his bedroom door, and retrieved his vest, slinging it over his shoulders, with just a simple olive-colored wife beater. He got his pants from off his bed and climbed into them. He zipped up, buttoned up, then fastened his belt. Lastly, he stepped into untied military issue boots, and grabbed the simple olive cap, with only his insignia stitched on the right side of it, he placed it on frontwards, and lugged his feet, with the heavy, untied boots, out of his room, and down the hallway.
Entering the main room, with his desk ahead of him, he walked over, under the watchful eyes of Silas, among others.
“There’s a letter for you, Cap. Direct from Lungi.”
Abel was worried, as he wanted to please the rebel high command, however, he tried never to show expressions, as they could too easily be manipulated by his enemies.
He walked over the desk, drew his fastened buck knife, from its belt-mounted sheath, and opened the envelope. He withdrew the letter, and unfolded it. He began to read it, showing no expression. His close knit entourage was keen to see the letter, but none could draw in close enough to read it.
Abel continued to lower his eyes, quicker and quicker, as he read it. He folded it up, drew a lighter, and lit the letter, tossing it into the empty garbage can beside him.
Silas, as usual, was the first to inquire. “What is it?”
Abel got up, and walked around the desk. He passed right by Silas, and even brushed his shoulder against Remy, who backed off immediately, stepping aside.
Abel walked out, of the command post, and headed across the courtyard, followed closely by his loyal entourage.
There were boys training, under Musa, and Solomon’s direction, doing push-ups using their rifle, trying to balance on their rifles, a difficult exercise it was. After passing them, as Solo, and Musa looked on suspiciously, and then passing Jo-Jo, who was doing up-downs with his troops, while jogging in place, the boys profusely sweating, but paying little attention to Abel.
Henry was talking with two boys from his squad, and upon seeing Abel approach, the two boys stepped back slightly, Henry still with his back turned, turning shortly thereafter, when he realized someone was walking up behind him, based on the expressions from his squad members. He turned. “Abel.” A smile lit up his face.
Abel failed to stop, and grabbed Henry by the scruff of his shirt, lunging forward, as Henry tripped beneath himself, he fell back, toppling, as Abel fell on top of him. “Where is he!” Abel shouted with an intense fury in his voice. He was seeing red, by that point, his veins protruding on his forehead, and his neck. “Tell me where he is or I’ll cut your fing dick off!”
The boy was petrified, no longer that slick, smart ass he had a reputation for, a common trait among the boys, emboldened by their positions as fully fledged soldiers now.
Drawing his buck knife, he put it to Henry’s throat, pressing it into his neck, a trim of blood formed, dripping a little from one side down his neck. “I- I d-don’t know Abe – Cap!” He quickly corrected himself.
“I swear to God, Henry, I swear to Him above, that if you don’t tell me, Omry’s death will be quick compared to what I will do to you.”
One of the boys in Henry’s troops took a step forward, but Captain Innocent was quick to step forward, and grab the boy by the neck, forcing him down onto his knees, near immediately. The boy held out his hands, a tear rolling down his face, from his flooded eyes.
The other boy was in a state of shock, and didn't move a muscle, with eyes on him.
“I swear C-cap, I d-don’t know.” Henry stuttered relentlessly to spit out the words.
Abel drew the knife from Henry’s throat, and put the tip up to his eye, nearly touching it. Henry was so petrified, his senses didn't react, he kept his eyes open. “I will cut your eyes out, and then cut your lying tongue out, worm. Tell me where he is, and I might spare your traitorous life.”
Just then, a boy darted out of a structure, about fifty feet ahead, and Abel caught it with his eye. He immediately pursued, backed by a half dozen other boys. Henry swiveled around on the ground, attempting to see where they were running, and a foot stepped on his shoulder blades pressing him to the ground.
“Don’t move.” Silas said, sternly.
Abel was quick for his age, due in part to years of playing football had enhanced his stamina, and agility. The boy was identifiable now, to others who had not read the letter, it was Omry’s former subordinate trying to flee the camp. Abel wasn't about to let that happen. His adrenaline gushed throughout his body, he felt super human for a few moments, and he was quickly gaining on the boy, as the boy darted into the bush, trying to evade capture, Abel was quick on him, no more than twenty feet behind. Slowly, but surely, he was gaining.
Abel was keeping up, leaping over fallen logs, and scattered brush, but keen to catch him. Leon made a foolish turn, around a dead tree, trying to cut a different direction, but Abel wouldn't be fooled so easily, and he read the move, and headed the short cut to the right, as Leon bent around. Abel put all his power into the jump, aiming directly at Leon, he tackled him hard to the dirt.
Leon was on his side, and Abel landed a powerful punch, with all his force behind him, right at the side of Leon’s head. And another one followed, followed by another one, he turned him onto his back, and his fury was being unleashed on Leon’s face.
The other boys had finally caught up, and they attempted to restrain Abel, but he fought through it, delivering another blow to Leon’s head. They finally pulled him off, taking four of them to restrain him. “We need him, Abel! We need him!” Remy shouted at Abel, as the other four restrained him to the ground.
“Traitorous fk” Abel blurted, spitting on Leon’s battered body. The boy was still alive, despite losing a couple teeth, and having a few cuts on his face, a split lip, and a broken nose.
Remy grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, and lifted his limp torso up, slightly. The head leaning back, lazily. “Did you think you would benefit, from being a traitor?” Remy had sounded as though he knew what was behind Abel’s accusations, but he figured it had something to do with the letter, that was obvious.
“Talk, fool.” Remy slapped Leon, grilling him for information. “Talk, you pathetic fk.”
Remy slapped him again, harder this time. Grabbing him by the collar of the shirt, with both hands, he lifted him further off the ground. “Talk!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. The boy was not willing to divulge anything at that moment, it was clear.”
“You just signed your own death warrant, traitor.” He spit in Leon’s face, at point blank range, and head-butted him, releasing his collar, and the boy laid there, appearing near lifeless.
Abel got up, with the help of the others. He stroked his hand through his hair, getting it out of his face, he was covered in sweat. He adjusted his pants, and shirt. His knife sheath had fallen off, and was handed to him, picked up by one of the other boys, and he reattached it to his belt. He dusted himself off, wiping his shirt, and pants. He took a deep breath, staring down at Leon.
“Take him to the isolated holding area.” He demanded.
Innocent, and Barracuda moved to grab him.
“Wait – take him to the general holding.” He quickly changed his mind. Clearly he had intentions for the captives to see what was to be done with him.
The boys reached down, one by each arm, deciding how to carry him back to camp. Abel grabbed Innocent, shoving him aside. The boy stood back. Abel looked down at Leon, the boy was blinking, and looking back. Abel smiled, for a quick second, wiping his nose, he then delivered a straight kick to Leon’s face, the boy’s face jerked aside instantly, an explosion of bloody saliva erupting from his bloodied mouth. He stepped one foot back, then away from Leon, walking back to camp, the others followed – save Innocent and Barracuda, who lifted the boy up, and began hauling him back to camp.
LATER THAT NIGHT
A light cord was pulled, and a single light came on. Leon was seated in a chair, in the middle of the room. His hands, and feet, bounded to the chair. He had regained full consciousness by that point. Silas stood in front of him. Remy and Grady were also present. A door was heard outside, in the hall, leading to the room. Then another door opened, the one to that room, and Abel walked in, with Solomon behind him. Solomon shut the door, and Abel walked up to the front, and confronted Leon, who looked at him, with a slight decline in his head.
Abel stood there in silence, looking at him, for a moment. “We’re only doing this once, Leon. I’m not going to walk through bullst. If your honest with me, you get a clean death. If you lie, if you hesitate, if I think you’re even remotely telling me falsities, I will make this long. I will make this painful.”
Wasting no time, he began. “Who are you aligned too?”
Leon didn't speak, just continuing to look at him.
Abel smirked, shaking his head slightly, he walked closer. He snapped his fingers, and Grady pulled a beat up wooden cart over, with a filthy rag on it, covering something beneath.
Leon’s eyes then fixated on the cart, unsure what to make of it.
“Who are you protecting, Leon.”
Leon looked back to Abel, but still, no words came out.
Abel looked to Grady, who then removed the rag off the cart top. Underneath were makeshift tools, including pliers, a standard straight blade knife, a thin iron rod – sharpened at the tip, two pairs of tweezers, wire cutters, a jug of water, an empty cup, and some pain killing anesthetics.
“Again, who's plotting, Leon?” Abel asked, growing impatient.
The boy didn't respond, and so Grady retrieved the knife off the table, and he grabbed Leon’s shirt, and cut through it, opening it down the middle, throwing the flaps open.
Holding the knife in one hand, he retrieved the pliers, with the other. He clipped his right nipple. He then put the knife up, as he pulled the nipple out slightly.
Leon had not wanted to see the outcome from this, and broke. “Henry. Henry is the mastermind behind it all. Well – since Omry’s death. I was just a pawn. I swear, I don’t know anything else. I was just following my –“ Abel leaned forward, and stuck a rag in Leon’s mouth to shut him up. He took the knife from Grady and drove it into Leon’s chest. Leon let out a bloodcurdling squeal, and Abel pulled it out quickly, jabbing him in the chest again. Remy slowly took off his sunshades, which he wore all the time, he looked over to Silas, who didn't make eye contact back, and he looked to Grady who just breathed in deeply, and kept his composure. None of them could really believe Abel capable of such brutality.
Leon was mumbling stifled screams, in utter pain. Abel had no remorse, he held his hand over Leon’s mouth, with the rag still inside. He continually withdrew the knife, and stabbed him again, and again. After over a half dozen stabs, he let Leon’s head bob down, the last sifts of life slipping from the boy.
“A traitor’s fate.” He said, turning to the others, while pulling the rag out of Leon’s mouth and threw it over his head.
Silas stepped forward. “Henry’s in the next room, Cap.”
Abel nodded, placing the bloodied knife onto the cart and he then walked out, followed by Silas, and Remy.
Grady began to clean up, and as the boys walked out, two boys standing guard outside the room entered to dispose of the body.
The boys walked down the hall, to another door, and entered it. Inside, a boy named Toddric waited, by a bounded Henry.
Henry was scared to death at that moment, he heard commotion from the next room, through the paper thin tin walls, silenced just as quickly as it had occurred. Behind them, a boy brought in the cart from the next room, and brought it up to Henry. The rag was removed, showing the bloodied knife used to kill Leon. Henry’s eyes widened and he began shaking his head, staring right at the blade.
“N-no, Abel. First Captain.” He shifted his sight to Abel, who now stood in front of him. He looked to Silas, and to Remy, and Toddric. He swallowed, his throat parched, his mouth dry as a bone. He had not had any water or food all day. He looked back at the knife, despite a relatively empty stomach, Henry leaned to the right, and puked onto the ground, tears rolling down his face. His eyes welled up just as quickly as he realized what had happened.
“W-where’s – where’s Leon?”
Abel stepped a foot closer to Henry. “Do you really mean to ask that?” He said, smiling.
Abel bent down, and looked Henry in the eyes. “An odd sight, not seeing you smile. Certainly a rare occurrence.” He straightened up again.
“Your ‘pawn’ informed us that he answered to you. Valid – this most certainly could be true as he took his orders previously from Omry, and held onto his pocket lining, but you? Whatever did he take orders from you for? You were Omry’s bh. His right hand, in more ways then one.” Abel said, cracking a smile. The others present all smirked momentarily at the jest.
“Now, your alone, Henry. No more pawns, no more allies in this camp. Well, not for long anyways.” Abel put his hands together, and over his mouth, a motion for deep thought. “What did you hope to gain from this? My ousting from acting commander in the Major’s stead? Is it the fact you couldn't take orders from a white boy?” Abel stared him straight in the eyes, subconsciously shaking his head. “Well, Henry. Here we are.” His arms extended upwards, and he swiveled his torso slightly, side to side. “You think you got what it takes to lead this lot? Okay then.”
Abel snapped his fingers twice, and motioned, by pointing, for Toddric to remove the bounds. Toddric proceeded to do as ordered. After being released, Henry cupped his left wrist with his other hand, and rubbed it in a circular motion, as he had been bound most of that day.
“Get up.” Abel ordered him, taking the knife off the table, and the filthy rag, and wiping it clean. He jabbed the knife into wooden cart top, and walked away from it, into the open area of the room. He unfastened his own knife, and wrapped his hands around the hilt of it, tightly. He motioned with his hand for Henry to come out to the center of the room.
Henry grabbed the hilt of the knife in the table, and jerked it free, and slowly walked out, eyeing down the spectators, only three others. Grady, Solo, and two other boys entered the room at that point, waved over by Abel. The boys all approached hesitantly.
Henry and Abel now had an audience. Abel wanted others to see the duel being egged on by him.
Henry walked to the front of the room, the knife firmly in his hand.
Abel slowly unsheathed the knife. “Any man can shoot another man. It takes a real man to stare at someone in the eyes, and stick a knife into him, watching the light fade from his eyes, and his parting from this existence.” The knife now fully exposed, held in his right hand.
“You've seen me best Omry – on numerous occasions. Now, it’s your turn to take a jab at me.” Abel smiled. “I know you've wanted this for sometime.”
Henry swallowed, his throat seemingly tight as a knot. He took a deep breath, slowly approaching Abel.
Henry stuck out one arm, hanging it at a low decline, his fist clinched. His other arm bent closely, with his hand tightly around the knife, his stance served defensively. Abel just walked around, circling him, his arms typically loose, and comfortable, by his sides, as he walked around Henry.
Abel childishly recalls his early youth, in his own mind, playing back scenarios as he pictured them in his head. The stories of his favorites, such as Alexander the Great, and his imagined personification as a masterful Spartan soldier, a Roman legionnaire – a gladiator. He viewed these childish historical personas, emboldening his own auspicious ego.
He had been practicing for months with his knife, mastering it in secret, so to use it to his benefit in such an instance. He viewed a knife fight as a true test of a man’s ability to engage in melee combat.
“Have you ever heard of Jim Bowie?”
Henry didn't respond, he just turned with Abel, following his movements.
“He’s was a famous Texan revolutionary, during the early 19th century. He preferred the use of a knife. He earned great respect, prestige, and renown for just that reason, among others of course Most opted to duel then with pistols in that time period, but he preferred the knife. A man’s reactionary movements during the heat of a melee were the test of one’s ability. This provided a greater reason for boasting of bravado, when celebrating a victory afterwards. In the ancient laws of combat, duels were alternatives to decide outcomes, rather than battles. They also gave soldiers the enjoyment of a dueling spectacle. The best fighter from each army would duel on even ground, weapons pre-decided.” Abel began to hop slightly, warming up his body, twirling the knife around in his hand, showing off his handling. He mimicked a boxer in his warm up routine. “They are remembered for their ability to engage in melee combat. The true test of a man, is in his ability to overcome his foe, despite the odds stacked up against him.” He continued on, walking again. “You never know what a man’s capable of.” He stopped, and walked towards Henry.
Henry stepped back a few steps, but then held his ground. Abel approached, lunging towards him in a provocative manner. Henry stumbled backwards, falling for the bluff attack. Abel just smiled, moving his hands around in front of him, continuing his relentless provocation.
Henry stepped forward and launched a swipe at Abel, but it was easily dodged. Abel lunged forward, not taking a swipe himself, but mocking Henry with his boldness.
Another lunge, and Henry swiped again, missing Abel once more.
Abel lunged this time, swiping at Henry, catching an extended arm, used foolishly as a defense from receiving a more dangerous blow to his torso or head.
Henry wheeled his arm back in, grunting in pain, the cut clear as day. He held his knife hand out, hoping to have some luck in parrying another attack, as difficult as it would be for an inexperienced knife fighter.
Henry lunged forward delivering several attempted swipes at Abel, but all were in vein, as Abel quickly evaded all of them. Abel returned one, catching Henry on the cheek, again the man was taken aback, grabbing his face with his free hand. He held his hand out, and it was covered in blood.
Abel just smiled at him, boldly.
“Who do you report to?” Abel blurted, bringing the focus of the conversation back on the original topic.
“Some coward scum sobel? Perhaps the government? You’re a true blue traitor, Henry, and it’s been exposed now. All these boys want nothing better than to gut you.” He said solemly.
He continued. “If you give me my information, you won’t forego the embarrassment of being slowly cut to pieces right now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Henry responded.
Abel scoffed. “Don’t attempt to connive me, Henry. I’ll cut your throat right here, right now, if you try to deceive me again. Answer the fing question.” He demanded.
“A fool sobel, he visited Lungi often, when we stayed there." Henry said as quickly as he could utter the words.
“And what did you seek as your reward for becoming a traitor?”
Henry grew cross, his hot temper getting the better of him. “We’re all traitors, you fool. You, me, Omry, Silas. All of us. We’re all rebels. Your just trying to build a reputation – a legend for yourself. All of it’s in vain, Abel. Your no different than the rest of us, aside from the color of your skin.”
“Is that so? No different?” Abel was infuriated by the disrespectful comment. He moved towards Henry, who lunged forward to meet him, and Henry delivered a jab, Abel deflected the knife with his own, and he met Henry’s forward moving face, with his elbow. Henry staggered backwards, falling slightly ,but catching his balance with his free hand. His nose began to bleed, but he quickly collected himself, rising back up.
Abel moved forward again, this time dodging another jab, and kicking Henry in the side of the knee. The boy dropped to his knees, and Abel used the moment to kick him in the side of the leg, forcing him to stay in that defenseless pose even longer. Now, knowing by recollection, remembering the sobel captain who visited Lungi, he no longer had use for Henry. He kicked him in the back, as the boy tried to rise back up. He let out an immense grunt.
Abel sliced his back. Again, on the other side, he took another slice. Henry raised his arm to block it, but took another slice on his arm, close to the previous one. He fell back on his bottom, and was now utterly defenseless. He raised the knife in a desperate attempt to prolong the duel, for his own sake. Abel kicked the knife out of his hand, and he landed a hard kick to Henry’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped for air, the fight was all but over now.
Abel walked around, circling Henry, as he helplessly tossed and turned on the ground, bleeding from several knife-inflicted wounds. Abel spit on him, and turned him on his back, using his foot, and stomped on Henry’s face, leaving an imprint of dirt from the boot, on Henry’s face.
Blood poured from his nostrils and mouth. A similar fate served to that of Henry’s former commander, Omry.
“If someone was to write a book about your life, Henry, this would be the conclusion. A book with no rise, or climax.” He stepped towards him, kicking him in the ribs, some cracks were heard, clearly he broke some ribs.
“They will never write stories about you, or feature you on documentaries, or ever utter your name outside of those who know of you pathetic existence.” Abel delivered another kick to the opposite side of Henry’s ribs, more cracks heard, and this time he gasped at a constant pace, some broken ribs having punctured his lungs. His death, by this point, was inevitable without proper medical treatment, which he would undoubtedly not receive.
“Some are winners, and most are losers, Henry. You, well, you chose the wrong side. That’s obviously apparent to you now.” Abel moved in again, kicking him straight in the jaw, with his steel tipped boots, breaking his jaw.
“You had your chance after Omry’s demise. You could have been integrated into my command structure, but you opted to deceit and connive me. You’re a yellow snake in the grass.” He turned Henry on his stomach, and stabbed him in the left shoulder, with the knife, withdrawing it roughly from his body, afterwards.
Abel continued circling him and spit down on his body. “Finally we've come to the conclusion, that you will join the thousands of others who have died on this godforsaken continent, and you have become a statistic.” He bent down, flipping Henry onto his back, and he looked him in the eyes. “Whereas my name shall never be forgotten.”
He took the blade to Henry’s neck and slit across it slowly, he didn't make a sound, sifting what air he could, before his eyes slowly shut.
|