Football singularity

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The propellers chopped through the thick air, slicing the silence with an ominous rhythm. Dust stirred into the fading light as the black-and-white jet slowed, kicking up a thin cloud that danced around its wheels. They didn't stand at attention as the plane approached, but they felt the tension rise, causing them to become more nervous subconsciously.

Kosongo's hand tightened around the grip of his rifle as the plane slowed to a stop, its propellers slowly losing momentum. "Eyes sharp. Don't embarrass me."

Abu shifted nervously beside me, whispering, "They say the Merchant of Death's entourage never travels light. Good food means danger, so maybe we will finally get to eat our fill."

The ramp lowered with a mechanical hiss, and out stepped a man dressed in a clean, grey suit. His leather dress shoes squeaked with each step that he took in descending the stairs as two goons dressed in black followed after him.

The man's face was pale, with cold blue eyes that scanned the clearing as if sizing up prey. His hair, slicked back with a shine that caught the dying sunlight, gave him the look of a Wall Street predator rather than a warlord's backer. The nickname "Merchant of Death" seemed too fitting for someone so composed, so meticulously groomed amidst this chaos.

Kosongo moved forward with seriousness, approaching the man with a serious gaze. "Sir Michle, welcome. We are ready to move at your command."

Sir Michle offered a smirk that didn't reach his eyes, barely managing to hold back the feeling of disgust as he watched the contingent of kids sent to greet him. He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Captain Kosongo," he said, his voice smooth but dripping with condescension. "Let's not lose anymore daylight, load some of the goods I brought for my friend Kofie, and we can be on our way."

Kosongo's jaw tightened, but he held his composure as, despite not being educated, he could pick up on the fact that the man in front of him didn't even consider him a human being. He was just the tool raised by the man's puppet, used to do his bidding, not worthy of respect or care. "Get moving, you useless things." He shouted at his squad in frustration, venting the sense of shame he was feeling.

The boys did not argue with him as they moved to the back loading bay, where the two bodyguards of Michle had started unloading wooden crates. They loaded the goods onto two preprepared cargo jeeps, taking 20 minutes to unload the plane before they hit the road. Not long after, the three jeeps formed a small convoy as they drove back into the jungle.

Kosongo, along with Abu, rode in the front Jeep. Sir Michle rode in the second Jeep with Rakim sitting in the cargo bay, and as the 13-year-old Kwame drove. Ade and the only bodyguard, Sir Michle brought, made up the rear of the convoy.

~~~

The dirt trail shook under the convoy's weight as the jeeps rumbled through the dense jungle. The sun was relentless, baking the red dust that curled like smoke behind us. The air was thick and heavy, filled with the scent of wet earth and gun oil.

In the cargo bay, with my back turned to the two in front, I slipped the small Bible back into my chest pocket. Silently opening the cargo crate, which was surprisingly easy with how much noise this rustbucket made, I got a look at what we were transporting. Inside wasn't what I expected.

Well, there were guns and grenades, but what caught my attention was the military-style satellite phone inside a clear box. It was awfully familiar, almost like I had seen it somewhere, but then it clicked as to where I had seen it. Every time this guy had visited the camp, the general would change his phone as the people behind him were paranoid to an almost pathological level.

Without even thinking about it, I flicked open the straps of the box and pocketed the phone along with two grenades. Despite the phone likely being linked to their system, I recall Uncle Joe teaching us how to perform a factory reset on a similar phone. Even though that was just a dream, the knowledge I learned stuck with me even now.

Following the steps of his memory, he turned the phone on, navigated to its settings, and reset it to its default settings. It took 10 minutes for the phone to turn back on, but he switched out the battery with one of the spare ones in the box, sprinkling a bit of the dirt from his boots inside in an attempt to force the system to work harder. He figured that it's the equivalent of dust entering a PC, forcing it to work 10 times as hard to compensate.

Turning it back on, the first thing I did was switch to the location sharing setting. Typing in the international emergency rescue figures, which was a 10-digit number, I didn't waste time broadcasting both our location and the coordinates of our camp to anyone and everyone. Once that was done, I slipped the phone into the inner pocket of Sir Michael's Duffel bag, closing it as if I had never touched it.

Closing my eyes, I rested, doing my best to drown out the obnoxious voice of Sir Michle, who seemed to think that bragging to child soldiers made him a big man. I could tell that Kwame only cared about the fact that he would get a full meal tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, the path widened into a dusty clearing framed by thick acacia, mahogany, ebony, limba, and wenge trees. That's when I felt an overwhelming sense of danger, reminding me of when I was on the pitch in my dream. Only this time, it felt more dreadful, sending a spine-tingling sense of fear in my every being.

I didn't even have the time to make sense of what this sudden feeling was or where it was coming from when the car behind us exploded into flames. It lit up like a Christmas tree, imitating the brightness of a Hyundai as the two figures riding within were obliterated.

The explosion sent a shockwave that punched through the trees, lifting the rear Jeep into the air like a toy. I barely registered the blast before the concussive force knocked me sideways into the side rail of the cargo bay. Kwame swerved violently to the left, cursing under his breath as shrapnel rained past us like metal hail.

"Contact! Rear's gone!" Kosongo's voice barked through the walkie unit, static crackling from his headset.

"Ambush!" Abu shouted over the radio, before switching to automatic fire as muzzle flashes lit up the tree line on both sides.

Not willing to wait and test whether they could match Luke Cage bullet for bullet, Kwame floored the accelerator, tires screaming as our Jeep jerked forward in an uneven lurch. I lay prone in the back, picking out an assault rifle from the cargo and started firing haphazardly. Through the chaos of our escape, I spotted Ade crawling out of the inferno, half his uniform scorched and torn.

He limped behind a fallen log, laying down wild covering fire as the bodyguard beside him lay twisted like a discarded doll, eyes open and glassy. Sir Michle was shouting something, ducking low in the backseat like the coward he was, arms flailing. "What the bloody hell was that?! Do something, you savages!" And I almost shot him on reflex.

Kwame didn't even bother with him as he continued following the leading car, no longer solely sticking to the road. We quickly gained tails as packs of jeeps swarmed towards us, converging on the road behind us. I was about to open fire on them when Kwame suddenly jerked the car to the right, causing Sir Michle's face to smack against the glass.

Before the man could even complain, an RPG rocket whistled past us, travelling along the position that the leading pursuer had just hit head-on. Einstein was right on his reaction theory as the leading car took out four other vehicles behind it, resembling a Hollywood movie scene of a train being bombarded.

The fireball behind us lit up the treetops like a false sunrise, sending shockwaves through the jungle canopy. Black smoke spiralled into the air, thick and pungent, and the roar of the explosion swallowed the sound of metal twisting and men screaming.

"Shit!" Kwame grunted, narrowly avoiding a tree as he whipped the wheel left, then right. The Jeep fishtailed on the dirt track, skidding into a narrow side path barely wide enough for two men to walk through, let alone drive. But it was our only shot.

"Hold on!" he screamed.

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To Be Continued...