CHAPTER 14
God is more eager to answer than we are to ask - Smith Wigglesworth
The jungle wrapped the captives and their captors, the Fulani militants, in its unbearable humidity and vegetation like a suffocating plastic bag. The Muslim militants were busy doing Allah's will, which is usually stealing, killing, and slaving. Bound only by the fear of being shot if they ran, the captives sat on their knees with heads bowed. Most chose this moment to silently ask for God's holy intervention. For two days, it seemed as though their Christian God had capitulated to the Fulani God, Allah.
The Fulani Ethnic Militia, aka Fulani Herders, aided by Al-Shabaab, aka Harakat al-Shabaab al-Mujahideen, aka the Islamic Emirate of Somalia, focus was what is referred to as the Middle Belt of Nigeria. They are also active in the north and south of Nigeria, but not as their focal point. The Fulani modus operandi is stealing farm land from the poorly armed Christian farmers. This is done through extreme violence against Christians known for their non-violent resistance. It seems as though the Nigerian government is more intent on lining their pockets than protecting Nigerian farmers. The rural violence matters little to city dwellers nested in their cozy, secure homes. After all, the rurals are dirty, sweaty, and ignorant people of no worth to us important people of the cities. The life and death of those paltry and inferior - dirty people are of no significance to the City People.
Omar Elmi Dihoud, leader of this Fulani group, entered the area occupied by the captives surrounded by his inbred security unit, putting on a third-rate acting job like they were the most powerful and holiest of men. The comic retinue demanded respect by kicking the kneeling captives.
Omar shouted in a squeaky, close to feminine, voice that didn't seem to fit the man who thought of himself as the most feared and respected Muslim militant in African history.
There were 27 shabby-looking Fulani militants in total, with their 12 captives. Clothing was a big problem for the militants. Their clothing was so oversized or undersized that it made them look more like circus clowns than soldiers. At one point, a militant's pant leg was stepped on by another militant, bringing the man down flat on his face, causing his unsecured AK to discharge, hitting another militant in the posterior.
Don't mistake these men for something they are not by their buffoonery and antics. These Fulani men are merciless and cruel. They violently removed the heads of their captives more often than not without a second thought. Frequently, with a smile pasted across the face that contained the empty and godless eyes, these men would plunge a knife into the back of a child or put a gun to the head of a wife in front of their spouse to make them both beg Allah for mercy. If not, they both were executed in front of the other captives.
The day's light was giving way to the darkness of night. Captives were made to watch as the militants stuffed their mouths with Suya, seasoned goat meat, skewered over a fire. A crude circle was formed around the fire by the thugs. Roasting goat meat, talking, and laughing while they passed around the Captagon and amphetamine.
The captives were neither offered food nor drink. Remaining on the ground on their knees for hours at a time tended to cause cramping and joint stiffness. Captives held little value. Their land was the prize. Lives of captives ended when the Fulani had drained all the fun from their misery, and that time was quickly approaching.
After finishing supper in front of the starving captives, Omar stood. His words were, "Let the after-supper entertainment begin."
The men laughed and stood up while reaching for their AK47s and some reached for their knives in scabbards. The party was entering its final phase, the rampage killing phase. The captives knew what was coming. It was a common pattern of the Fulani butchers. They didn't kill for Allah. That was just an excuse. Any civilized society doesn't allow people to be butchered. Yet, their Muslim god demanded it.
One of Omar's bodyguards produced a folding chair from some obscured place for Omar, the king, to sit while observing his people dealing justice to these evil Christian farmers.
As Omar sat down surrounded by his royal bodyguards, his head exploded from the impact of some unknown weapon. That event seemed to be the signal for a hailstorm of bullets that began piercing the skulls of all 27 Fulani militiamen. As the bodies fell, they sometimes landed upon one of the captives, who screamed in terror, thinking they had been shot.
Slowly, out of the jungle emerged many men in camouflage with strange instruments on their faces. The men with their SCARs leveled and sweeping the area, saying over and over, "You're safe, we're Christians."
None of the captives moved until the men began touching them softly, asking, "Are you hurt? We have food and water with us."
A young man warily twisted his downturned head to look at the men invading the clearing and declaring themselves to be Christians. Maybe five seconds later, he shouted, "God answered our prayers! You're The Team, aren't you?"
A tall man standing near the young man who shouted, bent down, answering, "Yes, God has answered your prayers, and, yes, we are what is known as The Team. You are safe now. I am Mabior, and these are my brothers who have answered your cry to God."
All the captives sat upright at that announcement. Most began to sob uncontrollably. One captive touched The Team member nearest to her, whispering, "You are Samuel, the one who is short in height, but tall in courage."
Samuel bent down, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Can I pray for you?"
Sobbing, the woman grabbed his hand and that of her husband next to her, answering, "Yes, you must pray for all these brothers and sisters of ours. They have lost all their land, houses, and, most of all, their children."
Samuel smiled at them and stood up. He pointed to the edge of the clearing.
All the captives screamed and stood with arms extended. Their children came running to each set of parents. They were saved. It was time to celebrate God's grace.
Alek organized the food and water dispensing. It was difficult for Alek. He tries his best to be tough and aloof, but he was crying so hard that Armani told him to sit down and let him handle this duty.
Samuel went from family to family, praying with them and asking for any immediate needs. Later, after everyone was fed, Samuel gathered everyone to pray over the dead.
Dok whispered into Diemba's ear, "We - we Christians - we really are so different from the world."
Diemba just shook his head while staring at Dok with a look that expressed just how dramatic and powerful that simple declaration is.
Shortly after the prayer, Mabior walked through The Team with two fingers raised high while shouting, "Part two, part two, men. Akunna is here. Load the trucks with the rescued. Part two begins as soon as loaded."
Alek signalled Mar and Thon to activate the red landing flares for the helos coming in to transport The Team to part two of their piece of the mission. Alek grabbed Artie by his body armor, asking, "Are the American cruise missiles on the way and on time?"
Artie was in full serious mode, "Yeah, and we need to be at position two when those Yanks begin hitting the camps, and the Reaper drones start firing. As those Fulani, Al-Shabaab, and Boko Haram boys get hit, they'll come running down that trail. Mate - it will get intense, fast," and he smiled a smile filled with memories of just such confrontations.
Mabior yelled, "Choppers incoming! Landing site - now!"
The Blackhawks had scarcely set down before they had their passengers loaded and were away into the moonless and clear night. The trucks commanded by the fearless servant of God, Akunna, were rumbling down the rutted trail toward safety with their precious cargo. Bodies of lifeless and previously dangerous militants lay in what looked like an arranged pattern on the ground. These bodies and a few worthless items of human trash were all that remained of the militant sanctuary turned cemetery. But the night still held work for the godly; savage work.
Akunna had instructed the other drivers to sing gospel hymns to soothe worried and weary souls on the journey to safety. On the helos, Samuel, on the number one helo, led the men in gospel hymns that seemed to drown out the noise of the motor. On helos two and three, Shermake and Mar led the gospel singing.
Alek looked at Giff, who was singing loudly and off-key, as usual, but had a couple of tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. Alek managed in the tightly packed compartment to get his arm around Giff's shoulder while smiling. Alek was tough and a man of few words except for ranging weapons and artillery, but he had a deeply compassionate side that could shock those who saw it for the first time.
Alek told Giff, "Never, ever, be afraid to ask God anything. For protection or anything, Giff. He is God the Father. He loves us more than we can ever imagine."
At that moment, the co-pilots on all three helos turned toward the passengers, giving a full five-finger signal that the men knew meant five minutes to touchdown. The men put their night vision goggles on and loaded rounds into weapons and pistols. It was go-time.
