Recoil

1

Thursday, 15 June Rwanda

10:46 hours

Sam and Crucial stood to either side of me outside the old breezeblock and wriggly-tin church. Eight little heads sat huddled in the shade at our feet, just as they had at Nuka and the mine. But what a difference a few days can make.

They were getting good-quality mealie-meal down their necks, scooping it up gleefully with their fingers from clean plastic plates, not out of rusty old tin cans. And they couldn’t get over the women fussing around and pouring them clear fresh water from the plastic bottles they normally used for the porters.

Sunday’s head tilted as he took a few more gulps. Our eyes met, and I got a fleeting, covered-face smile from him. I gave him one back and winked.

Lex was on his finals. The An12 shimmered in the heat haze as its wheels dropped, and the wings moved left and right as he lined up.

We’d only been here a couple of hours, and us three hadn’t yet done a thing for ourselves. As always, it was weapons and kit first. We didn’t have to worry about weapons. The AKs were back in Sam’s tent; we weren’t going to need them for a while. The only kit that needed looking after was the little fuckers at our feet. And now that they had mashed-up corn all round their mouths and bloated bellies we could get ourselves sorted out.

It had taken us two days to get back. We’d rigged up slings from strips of blankets and fixed them to each end of a cot. Two men on, one man navigating, we’d carried Tim and the boy the whole thirty-five Ks back, like removals men with a piano. Silky had strapped up her ankle with strips of blanket and got on with herding the kids behind us. They, too, had strips of blanket. She got each of them to hold on to the one in front, like a herd of baby elephants gripping each other’s tails.

Lex’s 23mms and Crucial’s RPGs had done their worst. When we crested the lip of the valley, we found the dead ground littered with bodies.

Lex soon exhausted his fuel reserves at the strip as he kept constant vigil overhead, giving us early warning and helping us navigate. He never deserted us, and only flew to Kenya to refuel and restock with more drums once we were safely over the border.

Nuka, the mine, the LRA now felt a whole world away.

I couldn’t believe the sense of satisfaction I felt as I looked down on the tops of the eight heads. It sounded like a pig trough down there, but it was one of the happiest noises I’d ever heard. The little fuckers might now have something resembling a life to look forward to. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so good. I didn’t want to risk Sam seeing the look on my face, though. I’d never hear the last of it.

I glanced as casually as possible towards the two of them. ‘What now for you guys?’

Sam took a long breath. ‘If Standish is alive, he’ll be back. Then it’ll be time for us to move on.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess we’ll set up somewhere else, maybe a little further east, away from the border. But the work won’t end, Nick. We’ll not give up. We’ll do anything to stop these kids being used by Standish and his kind.’ He nodded down at the munching crew at our feet. ‘Someone’s got to.’

Crucial fixed me with a stare. ‘And what about you, Nick? You staying, man? You can’t deny it – these little guys have got to you, haven’t they?’

A huge plume of red dust kicked up at the rear of the strip as Lex started to bounce his way down the runway, and saved me having to answer.

We turned and started to head from the church to the cam net. As we crossed the strip, one of the kids called, ‘Mr Nick! Mr Nick!’

I turned to see Sunday beaming all over his mealie-meal face. ‘Mr Nick! Mr Nick!’

‘That’s right, mate, Mr Nick. See you around!’

I waved and got one in return, and all of a sudden the Chuckle Brothers were at it as well, then they all joined in, laughing and giggling.

I didn’t know what to do so I just turned and carried on walking, my hand still raised and waving.